The Price of Loyalty
by Aku Maru
Summary: Identity crisis and a lost battle. Failure is not a normal state of occurance, but as the Dark Prince is discovering the consequences of failure are harsh. Now he faces his most difficult task and choice. AU, originally set 5th year but could be any.
1. The Rules of Humbling

This is a blatant mimicry of Lady Erised's Dark Prince collection.  
  
And the characters belong to J.K. Rowling. ________________________________________________________________  
  
Something told him this was all a mistake and he would go home and act as if none of this happened.  
  
The question was, which home was he to go to?  
  
Time would tell. Tonight was his master's night and he would go wherever his Lord wished. There were times when being the Dark Lord's most trusted was a benefit. This was not one of those times.  
  
He had Apparated to the meeting, dressed in full Death Eater regal. It was oddly simple for the Lord's second in command. But then, why be flamboyant when simplicity was all that was needed. When he entered a room, Death Eaters cowered before him. Fear of a name was nothing unless you could support it with fear of a person.  
  
But tonight. Tonight the circle withdrew in fear and watched warily. This man had not come to support the Dark Lord's rebirth. Questions flew along side accusations. He knew the Lord was not pleased with these events. The Lord was never please when a servant dared to ignore him. Oh, he knew he would pay for that misstep. And pay dearly.  
  
But the Dark Lord would not kill his Prince. That would set fire to the ranks. Create a civil war the Lord could not hope to overpower. The hordes would not be competing for his title. They would be after the more coveted one. That of the Fallen Angel, harbinger of death. The blood thirsty lot of them would kill themselves off before a victor was found. And by that time. At that time, the good witches and wizards would have nothing to fear.  
  
No. The Dark Lord would not kill his Prince. Finding a suitable replacement would take too much blood. Not to mention the time to mold him to the perfect killing monster.  
  
He knew he would not die tonight. But that did not keep him from dreading the encounter. He had disobeyed his master and that would be punished.  
  
No one would know by looking at him, standing and walking tall as a conquering hero returning to his king. No one ever saw him any other way. None that is, except the Great Lord himself. Even then dignity was fought for tooth and claw. He was proud. He had never shown any face other than the strength that was expected of him.  
  
A grimace slipped behind his mask.  
  
Not even through the punishments.  
  
He was their symbol. Their idol for worship, for strength. Should he fall then nations would tremble. Tremble in chaos.  
  
He was their example. Not the Dark Lord. Himself. Serve your master, do as you are told, and enjoy murder, mayhem, malevolence.   
  
He would survive tonight. The question was, in what condition?  
  
He stood before the double doors to the room the Dark Lord was currently using as a throne room. It only bothered him slightly that the room was in a house belonging to Malfoy.  
  
No one had made move to announce him. The Lord knew already. He had summoned his Prince. He knew his Prince would arrive.   
  
As according to custom, he opened wide the doors without fanfare, without announcement. It was simply: and he was there.  
  
Nothing moved in the room as he approached the throne. He only vaguely remembered seeing it. Vaguely remembered seeing anyone. His attention was focus solely on his Lord and Master. Their eyes locked as he made the procession through the room. Not a waver. He impressed himself sometimes. He feared this man. He respected this man. To an extent he trusted this man. But he made a show of appearing to trust the others in this group. There was only a small few he didn't suspect of wanting to stab him in the back.  
  
At the customary three feet at the base of the throne, he dropped his gaze and knelt. He had done this countless times. Though those were usually accompanied by an immediate report or praise. Tonight he was silent. He would not ask for forgiveness. He would take what he was given.  
  
"So, you have returned," Lord Voldemort said looking down at his servant. "You are defiant, I wonder why."  
  
Rule number one of the humbling: do not respond unless you are asked a direct question.  
  
He felt rather than saw or heard his master rise. A cool, taunt hand rested on the top of his head, paused then tilted his head until he was looking up at his Lord.  
  
Rule number two of the humbling: never object to a motion that was not your doing and never initiate any movement yourself, unless expressly told to do so.   
  
Red eyes bore holes through his. "You're late." It was a simple statement, said as flatly as possible. Under different circumstances the phrase could have been used in the classroom setting. His Lord removed his hand and he let his head bow once more. "I won't bother with asking you your excuse," the Dark Lord said as he returned to his throne. "You no doubt have a flawless one. And I agree, abandoning the Tri-Wizard's Tournament would have been foolish given your precarious position; however, you are late, nonetheless. Stand!"  
  
He rose quietly. The Lord Voldemort disliked his victims on their knees before the games began. It was understandable that he would want to bring his protege to his knees as punishment for his insolence.  
  
He was ready.  
  
"Of all my followers, I expected you to be by my side at my rebirth." Not a word was spoken but the slender hematite bars gracing his left eye felt heated. He had forgotten he was wearing his mask. The item fit his face so smoothly. "I was sorely disappointed when you did not arrive." The vertical bars seared his skin. "But that night is over and you have yet to settle your lost years of service. You were my Prince. Let us see if you are still."  
  
The pain increased suddenly. Three red hot pokers blazed into his eye. It did not torture as the Crucaitus Curse, but it was far more painful to the single point of agony. The mask was also not a torture device. It was merely a sign of control. A mark of property. Ironically, he had created the thing as a gift to his master. The Lord had wanted something different for his Prince. Something other than the Dark Mark. He had fashioned the mask. Infused it with many of the spells. Including the one trying to burn his eye out. He had placed it there knowing his Lord would find fault with him. Instead of debasing him and using the Crucaitus.  
  
The bars flared and suddenly he was on his knees. Clenching his fists from tearing the alabaster white mask off his face. It wouldn't stop the curse entirely, but it would lessen it. He did not remove his face because that was what a Prince in favor would do. He was not in favor.  
  
He was on his knees before the most powerful wizard in existence. And that was the position the Lord wanted him in.  
  
"Relinquish your mask, Severus. Let your brethren see your penance."  
  
So that was it. His punishment was to be defaced and debased before the Death Eaters. Silently and still with dignity, he removed his mask. Placed it face down at Lord Voldemort's feet. Without his face, he was a Death Eater no better than Crabbe or Goyle.  
  
Everyone in this room knew who he was. They knew long before the first fall. This was not the only time he had been de-masked. The mask was just a subtle symbol of what he was. A reminder that he WAS a small step above the rest, and that he could be forced to step down at any moment.  
  
With the contour fitting cover removed, the cold air tingled the oozing blood. The marks wouldn't last long. The blood would stop, the burns lessen, and eventually everything would fade away. That was how the charm worked.  
  
"Lucius, take Severus down for discipline." He clenched his teeth. He was being debased further than ever. He hated it.  
  
Rule number three of the humbling: never object to your punishment, your master knows what he is doing.  
  
Snape felt two pairs of hand grasp him by the shoulders. He had seen and participated in many of the discipline sessions. Peers punishing peers. And he was nothing more than a peer. At least by the rules. They were going to enjoy this brief moment of the humbling.  
  
"Bring him back to me at midnight, Lucius. Then I will finish it." Severus saw the Lord's hand reach down an lift the Prince's mask from the floor. "I will keep this safe until my Prince is fit to wear it. Go."  
  
He knew he wasn't going to die tonight, but that did not stop the dread filling his stomach. He let the two Death Eaters drag him to his feet and further to his punishment. Why struggle against the inevitable. He could have walked proudly to this torture chamber, but why disappoint his jailers.  
  
He wondered how many hours he would be here. How many hours there were left until midnight.  
  
Then the beating began. Physically and magically. But this was nothing new. He could easily tolerate the pain. And he took it all soundlessly.  
  
His master was a god. He was a demigod. And gods did not suffer.  
  
He wanted to smile. His jailers were terrified of him and wanted to kill him. But they were becoming more terrified as the night wore on. The more they bruised and battered him, the more he appeared a god.  
  
He wanted laugh. His Lord knew what he was doing. Into the crucible and come out stronger. Even Lucius Malfoy who had accompanied him down, gleeful of the chance to repay his Prince, was once more a little frighten ferret. These worms of men thought they could harm him. He laughed. It was a cold sound, chilling everyone in hearing distance. After hours of silence, laughter was the last thing they expected to hear.  
  
Then they let him go. All scurrying to find a safe place to hide. Did they fear his wrath? Likely.  
  
Standing tall, he lead the procession back to his Lord's throne room. Still smiling. He reminded himself that he needed to find a gift suitable for thanking his master. Once again the followers of Lord Voldemort trembled at the slightest hint of his title. It had only taken a few hours in their care to remind them why HE was the Dark Prince.  
  
He looked a mess, and knew it. But his Lord wanted his presence at midnight, and here he was once again kneeling at his Lord's feet. Still smiling.  
  
"Your apologies, Severus?" Lord Voldemort asked the prostrate servant.  
  
"My Lord, I am and forever shall be yours. I present myself to you as your loyal servant. And humbly request to lay my apologies at your feet, for being late."  
  
The Dark Lord laughed softly at first as though amused by the thought. Humbling never required one to loose his wit. "You are forgiven, Severus. You may take your place in the circle."  
  
"My Master is gracious," he said softly.  
  
Rule number four of the humbling: too much flattery will send you further back than no words at all.  
  
With an elegant and practiced motion he bent to kiss his master's robes. But he made no move to lift the cloth with his fingers. He knew the rules of servitude too well to break them without cause. He was not in enough favor to touch the hem his master's garment. Instead, he lightly pressed his lips to the floor just shy of his master's boot. He carefully hid his a smirk. Let the highest chew on this. In a situation where the highest would attempt to kiss the robes, the Prince doesn't. We shall see if this example is followed.  
  
Drawing back, he waited for the time to rise. He knew better than to do so without bidding. The allowance to take his place in the circle did not mean to do so. He had not been given an order. This was another rule of servitude the highest continually broke.  
  
"Stand, Severus, and claim what is yours."  
  
He stood. He then took a step closer to his Lord and reclaimed the lost mask. Slipping it on carefully, he knelt once more and reached for Lord Voldemort's hand. Only the highest were allowed to touch the master's robe, but none were allowed to kiss his hand. That was for the Dark Prince alone.  
  
He kissed through the mask and asked in a soft, humble, yet clear voice, "How may your Prince be of service, my Lord?" And he was returned.  
  
"I have a message for you to give Dumbledore, my Prince. Take it without delay."  
  
The Dark Prince accepted the parchment from the Dark Lord and rose. "Shall I return with a reply?" he asked.  
  
"Only a verbal one."  
  
"I hear and I obey." He bowed, turned heel and left. He was his Lord's once more and nothing would change that.  
  
****  
  
The office of Headmaster Dumbledore had far too many people in it for the time of night that was approaching. The three remaining Heads of House, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Alastor Moody and several of his closest Aurors, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, and Albus Dumbledore himself.  
  
Dumbledore lamented on how fewer of the old crowd they could find on such short notice. It wasn't surprising, just disappointing. Many of those witches and wizards were dead. The rest were far away and had yet to be reached.  
  
They were waiting for Severus Snape to return, if he returned. Dumbledore was under no illusions about what could happen. He was staring out the widow at the Forbidden Forest while the others discussed what they wished. He had already spent a good portion of the night explaining Sirius's presence. Luckily, they all believed him. Moody was torn, but in the end accepted. The man wanted Snape's head more.  
  
There was sudden silence as he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Minerva staring wide eyed at the apparition standing in the center of the room. Her expression was one of shock and horror. Not at all surprising considering the who it was in the room with them.  
  
Dumbledore glanced at the small host of Aurors. All appeared to be reaching for their wands, none were moving an inch. Moody had both eyes fixed on the apparition. The others were far too stunned to react. He rose from his chair, or at least tried to. It appeared this new 'guest' had cast a form of the pretrificus spell.  
  
"Is this little party for me?" it asked innocently enough. "I'm touched." it bowed slightly. "Truly I am." The thing pulled back his hood slightly revealing the white mask. But at the sight of the slender, unequal, hematite lines drawn over his left eye, the room would have stilled further. "But I come on business, Headmaster."  
  
"Ho- How?" Remus stuttered. So their ability to talk was not taken from them. "You can't Apparate on to school grounds."  
  
"And I didn't, my dear werewolf." The Dark Prince bent down to look levelly into his victim's eyes. "But one thing the book does not mention is how the castle will grant a request if the situation is dire enough. And here I am"  
  
"You were suppose to be dead," Arabella charged. She seemed to be struggling against whatever held them in place.  
  
"Surely you did not think death was possible for me? I was merely biding my time for my Lord's return. Now for business." The Prince reached a gloved hand into his robes and withdrew a stark white envelop. "My Lord bid me bring you this," he said stepping towards Dumbledore.  
  
"So you are nothing more than a messenger boy now," Moody growled. To his surprised, the Prince chuckled.  
  
"I thought even your puny little mind would see that I am the message. Though there is another within for the Headmaster." He held the letter out. When Dumbledore made no move to take it, he added, "I assure you that you can move enough to read the letter."  
  
"Remove your mask," he said. The Dark Prince did not react. "They deserve to know who you really are."  
  
"That was not part of the plan, Headmaster," the Prince chided. "Whether they deserve it or not, it is not for you to decide."  
  
"They deserve to know, Severus." He felt the man before him smirk and he wondered why the Prince would consider that a victory.  
  
"I see you waited to inform your friends." With an elaborate gesture Severus removed his mask and bowed to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, tucking the white face underneath his left arm, still offering the letter. Dumbledore watched as Severus rose. He watched the man's face, it was still as the mask. Complete with the three bar pattern. "And now that they know who I am, what do you intend to do?" he asked, as though Dumbledore had control of the situation.  
  
The Headmaster reached for Voldemort's letter, ignoring the dozen of faces watching him. Most particularly his Head of Slytherin. The letter was not long by any means. It was a mere two sentences.  
  
~You will have your precious professor returned to you in time for the next school year, as I know you will take him. But for now, he is mine.~  
  
Now he understood why Severus smirked in victory. It was for the last and hardest rule of humbling, a topic he rarely spoke on. Reveal your scars to the enemy so they may fear you all the more.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. The nameless, faceless Fallen Angel had returned. And he was standing before him in all his glory.  
  
"What are you going to do now?" he asked the Dark Prince.  
  
"I am to return with your reply, Professor." Severus was still standing as peaceful as if he were standing in a garden, oblivious to the dangers around him. Though, Dumbledore doubted Severus was oblivious. The man was more likely unconcerned because he was more than a match for any of them.  
  
"Tell Voldemort, he still has reason to fear me. I will stop at nothing until he is erased from this earth."  
  
Severus smiled. The expression did little to lighten his face, if anything it made his visage darker. Then the mask was on. "That is as we had expected and hoped. Until then, Headmaster." The Dark Prince was gone and they were released from the spell.  
  
"Albus," Minerva whispered, "why didn't you ever tell us?"  
  
"I was never certain of it until tonight."  
  
"Let me guess," Moody growled, staring at the place where the Prince last resided. "You were expecting Snape and you got the Prince. The voice was a close match, but meant nothing, right."  
  
"Correct, Alastor. I wasn't expecting this, however," he said handing the paper to Minerva.  
  
"You aren't going to allow him to return, are you?"  
  
"I'm not sure. What Severus does, he does according to his own agenda."  
  
"But you can't possibly trust him after this," Remus lifted a hand to encompass the night's events.  
  
"Oh, I trust him. I'm just not sure what I trust him to do."  
  
****  
  
He was now a conquering hero. Into the lion's den and out. But Dumbledore knew enough to suspect his continuing betrayal of his Lord. Which was what was happening exactly. Except, his Lord knew information had to flow to Dumbledore if he wanted to keep his Prince at Hogwarts.   
  
"My Lord," He announced from the door as was his usual. "I come bearing excellent tidings from the Headmaster Dumbledore."  
  
And so the first part of his gift was given. He was already planning the second. 


	2. The Rules of Servitude

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The Rules of Servitude  
  
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"My Lord," the Dark Prince announced as he threw the doors open. "I come bearing excellent tidings from the Headmaster Dumbledore."  
  
The Death Eaters pulled their circle apart as Lord Voldemort's most favored entered the room. Lucius despised the expected treatment they were to give to the Prince. He despised it only because the Prince was the one man between him and his Lord. Lucius Malfoy only had two masters, the Dark Prince and the Dark Lord.  
  
But in the rules of positioning, Severus Snape fell below him. The only thing that bothered him was that the mask was always present. Without it, he would be second. But no. The mask was always there. It was infuriating.  
  
The Prince walked all the way to the Lord's throne uncontested and knelt at Voldemort's left arm. Knelt and waited for the Lord's blessing to begin. Instead the Dark Lord placed his hand on the Prince's head, as one might a loyal dog.  
  
"Leave us!" Voldemort commanded. The highest of the Death Eaters filed out, Lucius was last among them, being the highest. "Lucius, wait by the door."  
  
The doors closed leaving Lucius standing in the throne room. So he was to remain. And listen. He turned and watched Voldemort and the Prince. The Prince had not moved, but Voldemort was standing.  
  
"My Prince, Lucius here has been under the impression he is of equal status with you while you are gone."  
  
"Indeed, my Lord," the Prince said rising. Turning, he stepped to the Lord's left hand. "Is there something you wish of me?"  
  
"I wish to see if Lucius could preform the tasks as required by the Dark Prince." Lucius watched as the wheels turned behind the Prince's mask. He was trying to decide if he was being replaced. He watched as the rules of servitude were broken. "The mask, Severus," Voldemort said tonelessly.  
  
"My Lord?"  
  
Rule number one of servitude: never question your master's orders.  
  
"Severus Snape," Voldemort scolded, sounding more like a father reprimanding his son. "Do not make me repeat myself--"  
  
"This is highly irregular, my Lord."  
  
Rule number two of servitude: never interrupt your master while he is speaking.  
  
Voldemort reached up with his left hand and removed the pristine white face marked with the three gray-silver bars with a sharp movement. Severus was left surprised. "Wait by the door and kneel."  
  
Wordlessly Severus bowed and walked past his Lord. Lucius felt like smiling. He wondered if Severus had ever been forcefully defaced. Snape nodded, almost deferentially, to Lucius when he reached the doors. His face was still calculating, but his eyes never reached Lucius's face. Malfoy had a victory over this Prince. And he reveled in it.  
  
Severus stood on the opposite side of the door frame from Lucius. "I said kneel, Severus." Stiffly, Snape bent knee, right arm resting on his right knee, and his left arm braced against the floor. Lucius felt oddly satisfied to have Snape in such a position so close to him. Taking a careful glance at Voldemort, Lucius saw the corners of the Lord's mouth curve into what should be called a smile.  
  
So, Severus had finally obeyed rule number three of servitude: always obey your master's command to the letter.  
  
"Lucius, approach."  
  
One quick glance at Severus showed that he was clenching his teeth, glaring holes through the floor. Lucius stepped to his master's throne, but Voldemort was still standing, mask in hand. He knelt at Voldemort's feet, and felt like a conquering hero. "My Lord, how may I be of service." It wasn't what he normally said to Voldemort, but it felt more appropriate considering the circumstances.  
  
"Let us see how you fair," the Dark Lord said. "Rise." And Lucius Malfoy rose as bidden. He found the coveted prize resting on the outstretched hand of his master. He felt a surge of pride swell within him. "Take it, Prince, and show me you are worthy."  
  
Lucius smiled. He took the face and slipped it on. The mask molded itself to his contours. The fit was snug, like that of his own mask. But there were differences. These were mere slits yet he could see everything as though there was no mask. With his original, there were gaping holes like those of an empty skull. This one also did not have any curves for the mouth, that area was smooth. He felt the bars heavy against his skin. They were weighted with the responsibility.  
  
"And shall the Prince stand by my side?" Lucius took a step to his Lord's left.  
  
"NO!" The sharp objection rang through the air.  
  
Rule number four of servitude: never speak out of turn.  
  
Lucius turned to find Severus standing with a look of fury on his face. Under normal circumstances, Lucius would have backed down. But not tonight.  
  
"It appears, Prince, that Severus is in need of a lesson in manners. Be so good as to give it to him," Voldemort said seemingly bored with the proceedings.  
  
"Of course, milord." Unfortunately the mask hid his grin. Snape was now his to command. "Come here, Snape." The man's face twisted into a scowl as he hesitated. "Now!" Snape marched up to the Prince, head held high, back ramrod straight.  
  
Rule number five of servitude: always show your master respect, whether by bowing, kneeling, down casting of the eyes, or another form of courtesy.  
  
Snape stood three feet away, glaring.  
  
Time to remove that insolence. "Kneel, Snape." It was not an unreasonable request. It was what they were expected to do to revere the Prince. "I said kneel," he said more forcefully when Snape remained defiant. "Kneel," he yelled. Snape stood. "I am your Prince, and I command you to kneel." He didn't miss Snape's glance over his shoulder at Lord Voldemort. He too stole a look. The Lord was sitting passively watching the scene unfold. Lucius began to get a nervous feeling.  
  
"I have not sworn any allegiance to the Dark Prince," Snape said finding a technicality. Lucius gaped in surprise. One that Severus would be so bold as to say it. And two that it was true.  
  
"Then I think it is high time you do," Voldemort said calmly, pulling Snape's glare to him. But Snape dropped the gaze as soon as he realized who he was looking at. "I want you to swear fealty to the Dark Prince, Severus. It is time we correct this lapse."  
  
"As you command, my Lord," Snape said dropping to his knees before the Prince. Lucius could tell Snape was unhappy with the situation, but that fueled his resolve even more. There was silence as they waited for Snape to begin. "I, Severus Snape, swear to serve and obey the Dark Prince without question and to the last breath of my life. I ask the Dark Prince to accept my fealty," here Snape brought forth his wand and held by the middle, offering the hilt to the Prince. Lucius also noticed the ill disguised disgust written on his face. Snape took a breath and continued, "And I humbly offer my life to better serve the Dark Prince's needs."  
  
Lucius smirked. He had said the very same words to the Dark Prince. He was please to get the same words repeated to him. He took the handle of the wand as Snape relinquished it. He held it threateningly at Snape's throat. He was shocked when, as Snape bent to kiss the end, he smiled.  
  
Snape only ever smiled when he had figured out something. Whatever he had figured out this time, Lucius was in the dark. Snape kissed the tip of the wand and glared openly. Lucius growled in frustration and annoyance. He had Snape on his knees. The man had sworn him fealty. Why was he continuing to act as though nothing happened?  
  
He glanced back at Voldemort and swallowed a lump that was building. Voldemort was smiling. "Well? Make him obey you, Prince." Lucius got the impression that he was being mocked.  
  
Lucius hesitated and Snape stood. He was still smiling.  
  
Snape plucked his wand from Lucius's lax fingers. "You are out of your element, Lucius. I suggest you return."  
  
Rage overtook Lucius. Drawing his wand, he yelled, "Crucio!" Fully intending to seriously harm the man before him.  
  
Snape did nothing to dodge. He let the curse hit him in full. He only staggered slightly.   
  
This wasn't how it was suppose to be. Snape should be on the floor, writhing in pain, screaming for mercy. He was doing nothing. He stood as still as a stone statue. He cursed the man again.  
  
And Snape laughed.  
  
Rule number six of servitude: never ridicule your master.  
  
"Is that the best you have to offer, Lucius?"  
  
Lucius was about to advance on Snape when the three bars over his left eye flared into life. He collapsed, the pain unbearable. He knew he was screaming. He knew he was asking mercy. But what killed him inside was that he knew the Dark Prince never said a word.  
  
He had broken the final rule of servitude. The strongest, the one that must be obeyed at all costs. Know your place and never step beyond your bounds.  
  
He cried.  
  
Weeping on the floor, he barely heard the conversation held above him.  
  
"Reclaim what is yours, Severus. I hope the lessons have been learnt."  
  
"They have, my Lord. And learned well." The coveted prize was removed from Lucius Malfoy's face. "Give me the resources, my Lord, and I shall return with a gift for you."  
  
"Explain to Lucius why we had this little display."  
  
"As you wish, my Lord." Lucius heard swishing robes approach him. "Up." And he obeyed immediately. Soon he was looking into the faceless mask of the Fallen Angel. "What occurred here was a test in strength. Both yours and mine." The Prince spoke so calmly, Lucius could hear the smile. "It was also designed for me to recognize how my command will increase. If I am not loyal to myself, how will anything get done. You are dismissed, Lucius. That is, unless our Lord and Master desires you to remain."  
  
The Dark Prince turned to Voldemort in a questioning manner. "He may leave. You, however, have yet to tell me what you intend to do about Dumbledore."  
  
Lucius rose and backed out of the room, staring at the two gods before him. Could anything bring them to their knees? The Prince only submitted to the Dark Lord, while Severus Snape, appeared to do the same. Except he was under Lucius's command.  
  
Then he realized. Snape submitted to Lucius, but Snape had never submitted to the Dark Prince. So that was why he had been part of that scene. They had needed a stand in for the Prince, not a replacement as he had so desired.  
  
Lucius cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.  
  
So now Snape obeyed the Dark Prince. But where did that place him on the scale? Was he higher or lower than Lucius?  
  
Lucius left before he could hear another word of his masters' conversation. 


	3. Interlude of the Past

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Interlude of the Past  
  
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People always wondered how he came to his position. And they never expected the answer. There were many stories that cropped up to explain it away. From being the Lord's bastard son to being his whore. The nicer ones painted him as a cruel heartless shadow desiring nothing but blood. There were always ones who were determined that it was his desire for revenge. And the fools who believed it was his skills. No one ever believed he attained his position through jealousy.  
  
Of course he never told anyone alive. Only his Lord knew for certain, even if he encouraged some of the baser theories.  
  
Jealousy is a powerful thing. Able to take you far beyond mere revenge.  
  
He had entered the ranks because of revenge. And enjoyed every moment of it. But he was jealous. Not of any of the Death Eaters, but of the enemy. His Lord knew that and cultivated it at every chance.  
  
He had reached the top of the ladder quickly. And was ready to bring the world to his Master's feet at any moment when disaster struck. But by that time he had already made an allegiance, or at least part of him, with the enemy. Albus Dumbledore. That was an interesting scene. Especially since the old fool knew nothing of his other mask.  
  
At one time Severus Snape and the Dark Prince were separate entities. Both serving the same master. Both sharing the same experiences. But each controlling a different side of the mask. Barely recognizing that they were one and the same, but always knowing without one the other would not remain.  
  
It was Severus Snape who went to Dumbledore. The Dark Prince was dormant at the time and said nothing. That did not mean he knew nothing of the encounter. But what Severus Snape did was of no concern of the Dark Prince. Or at least neither considered it so at the time. But times change.  
  
The scene with the Hogwarts's Headmaster was not pretty. There was no sob story to tell. No tear swept confessions from a bleeding heart. No begging forgiveness for events that he would never change. But it was definitely not pretty. He hated to remember.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"Severus, what brings you here at this time of night?" the Headmaster asked from his bed. He knew it was long past the witching hours of the night. It was the perfect time to get things done.  
  
"I needed to speak with you," he said from the window. The window was quite large, enough so he could stand on the ledge without contorting his tall frame. The Headmaster had cleverly sealed his rooms from any sort of visitors, the unwanted sort. The broom he had come upon had long since fallen unnoticed. He let it, not allowing himself a simple way out.  
  
He had stood in the open window for a long while, waiting for the Headmaster to make the first move. He would have waited for dawn if he had to. He was mask-less, making to show to hide his identity. Hiding would not do for what he had planned.  
  
"So you are the one letting in the night air." How did the old wizard manage to sound undisturbed? To the point of sounding oblivious? Severus had never really understood the man. Had never really bothered. Though he would need to eventually if he was to survive. "Come in, my boy, it sounds as if you have come for something important." The bearded wizard slid from under the covers and pulled on a dressing robe. He was walking to his study before Severus stepped from the ledge, before that point the wards would not have let him.  
  
The old man was sitting behind his massive desk, waiting. There was a slight wave inviting him to sit, but Severus declined. He wasn't in the mind set to have a friendly conversation over a cup of tea. Of course he wasn't in the mind set to do much else than what was needed.  
  
"What is it that you needed to speak with me about?" Dumbledore began when it was clear Severus would do no such thing.  
  
"There are a few things you need to be aware of, sir. But first, I believe this belongs in your keeping until this evening is over and things are concluded." The Headmaster never saw the movement. Perhaps there was no real movement, just a soft spoken word heard through his own ears only. His wand rested unassumingly on the desk. Dumbledore slipped into confusion and out in less than a blink of the eye.  
  
"And why should I be in possession of this?" The Headmaster already knew, somewhat, why.  
  
"If I must answer that question, Headmaster, I might as well return it to my holster and take my leave."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "Very well. What should I be aware of, Severus?"  
  
Severus swallowed before he began. He had never thought it would be so difficult. He didn't speak at first. Words would only confuse the situation. He rolled up his left sleeve and waited.  
  
He didn't wait long.  
  
The old man, spry as ever, had leaped up and Severus was now looking down the point of slender shaft of oak. The desk was no longer a true obstacle.  
  
"Explain yourself!"  
  
"What is there to explain, Headmaster," he answered hollowly. "I am as I appear. What more do you wish to make it?"  
  
"Why?" the wizard before him sounded weary, not through exhaustion, but through experience.  
  
"What answer would you have me give? That I was seeking power? Knowledge? Revenge? I already had the knowledge. The power was inconsequential. Revenge? I could have easily found another way. A more direct way. Jealousy."  
  
He enjoyed the long look of disbelief followed by shock. He doubted if anyone had ever stumped the Headmaster before. It was much like proving yourself greater than anticipated to the Lord. But this was different. He was proving nothing. He merely gave an answer never heard before.  
  
"Why are you here?" The wand never hesitated.  
  
"Must I repeat myself, Headmaster," he said disdainfully. "Reseat yourself and I will come to that." Oddly his request was honored. Through the wand never was put away. "You should know by now that your beloved Potter's time is running slim. He has already made himself an enemy of my Lord Voldemort, and shortly will cease to exist. Whatever project you have him working on will cause him no end of trouble.  
  
"Also the war with the Ministry is only begun. If you are to warn your dear, dear friends who are about to loose their lives to the mayhem, do so immediately. I cannot tell when the strikes will begin. Terror and chaos are mere samples of what is to come." Severus basked in the heated gaze of the Headmaster. Finally a rise other than the ordinarily benevolent twinkle that always graced his eyes. "Beware of direct attacks on the pathetic excuse for a Minister, they will come."  
  
"Severus, sit down." It was his turn to be confused. He had already declined and was now ready to leave. "Sit down before I force you to." The next moment he was bound to a simple leather backed chair that appeared from nowhere. He wasn't panicking yet. Perhaps it was a mistake to come in person. He wondered if fear had entered his eyes yet. He doubted it, but there was no telling.  
  
"As it is, Severus, I have no way of trusting you except for the fact that it appears as though you have come of your own volition. Perhaps you would be so good as to answer some of my questions before you run off to your Lord and Master and inform him of this little conversation. Though I have no qualms with turning you over to the Ministry for their inquiry, I can promise that mine will be less painful if you cooperate. The Ministry has no promise of that."  
  
Severus felt his mouth dry up as if it had been filled with cotton balls. How could he have been stupid enough to allow himself to fall.  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
  
"You expect me to answer a question I can't even answer myself. I am here, isn't that enough."  
  
"Do you not want Voldemort to succeed?"  
  
"If my Lord succeeds, if will happen. What I do has no consequence in that matter."  
  
"The lives you are trying to save will serve a drastically different end should they live and not die. You, unlike the other confessions we have received, know information that could change the course of the war. I want to know if you are loyal to Lord Voldemort, or are in the process of defecting."  
  
"I will not defect. I am my Lord's." He doubted if the Headmaster knew the Dark Prince was surfacing.  
  
"Then why are you telling me his plans?"  
  
"My Lord's plans are fairly obvious if one knows where to look. Besides I am not ready for the game to end."  
  
"You think this is a game?"  
  
"Life's a game, Headmaster. A game where no one knows if they will come out alive. I intend to play until I die. And if I must take matters into my own hands to ensure it remains enjoyable, I shall do so."  
  
"Should I trust you?"  
  
"You should trust me with your life, other than that, I wouldn't advise it."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"I do not kill my superiors."  
  
"And who is on that short list besides myself?"  
  
"My Lord Voldemort," he smiled. Severus would have had to include Lucius Malfoy, but not the Dark Prince.  
  
Dumbledore nodded as if that was what he was expecting. The interrogation lulled while the old man leaned back to think. This really was a ridiculous situation. He should have been gone by now. Perhaps giving his wand to the Headmaster was a mistake. Though he was certain if he had not the repercussions would have been worse.  
  
"Very well then," Dumbledore said sitting forward. "I suppose the question is, do I turn you in to the Ministry or let you return, provided you agree to certain terms?" Severus didn't say a word. "Of course the terms would be of my devising and be an all or nothing choice. You do understand, Severus, that without those I would have no reason to trust you." Snape nodded. "Now as for the terms. One is for you to swear your loyalty to me and foreswear your loyalty to Voldemort."  
  
"I will not!" He struggled against the bindings for the first time that night. The Dark Prince was cursing Severus for his lack of planning. "I am his and nothing will change that!" But the Dark Prince would concede Severus. Should Severus defect he would have the perfect opportunity to spy on Dumbledore. It was just the leverage the Dark Lord needed.  
  
"Severus, you came here to inform me of your master's plans. If you did not intend to betray Voldemort, then why are you here."  
  
The Dark Prince quieted, leaving only Severus Snape. The Dark Prince knew this was an excellent and fool proof way of infiltrating Dumbledore's close knit group of followers. But it would be on Severus's head.  
  
"Severus, answer me truthfully. Why did you come here?"  
  
Severus stilled and avoided eye contact. Why had he come? He couldn't answer himself, what made the Headmaster think he could answer him? He surprised himself. "I needed to."  
  
"You needed to do what?" Dumbledore prompted. This was not how things were suppose to go.   
  
"There are actions that will take place that you know nothing about. Actions that will change the course of the war. Change the course far more than I desire it."  
  
"And by coming to me, you intend to change it according to your designs?"  
  
"No. By having you change the course, it gives my Lord the opportunity to redirect his actions to one more suitable."  
  
"Are you going to tell me what these actions are?" Severus hesitated. "I see, you still are loyal to Voldemort. If you want to redirect the course of this war, then you need to change allegiance." He looked up, involuntarily. Dumbledore was still seated behind his desk, fingers steepled under his chin, looking down through his spectacles. "Now, I'll ask you again. Will you accept my terms and denounce Voldemort or will I call the Aurors?"  
  
He sat statue still as he pondered his choices. He didn't doubt he could handle any number of Aurors Dumbledore would call. Returning his wand to his hand only needed a soft dark spell and a moment of inattentiveness from the Headmaster. But hadn't he come here to warn the Headmaster. Surely doing so had already breached a level of loyalty to his Lord. Perhaps he could pull out of this alive and sane.  
  
Bowing his head in shame and resignation, he said, " Yes, I will accept your terms."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *   
  
The Dark Prince had all but rejoiced when he had heard the terms. Severus would provide information to Dumbledore as a double operative. The Dark Prince had gone immediately to the Dark Lord to inform him of the situation. And the Dark Lord was pleased.  
  
At that time the Dark Prince and Severus Snape were separate. But time and experience merged them into one. The Dark Prince was always awake now, watching what Severus was doing, saying, behaving. In turn Severus became more aware while the Dark Prince took control and reported to the Master. This process was gradual. But at some point before the Dark Lord's first fall, the Dark Prince began to question, however subtle, the ideals his Master embodied. At some point he started to agree with Severus Snape.  
  
During the time of rest, before the Dark Lord's rebirth, the Dark Prince lay dormant, passively watching through Severus's eyes. He saw things more objectively in respect to Dumbledore. And came to respect that wizard as greatly as he respected the Dark Lord.  
  
But now, after pledging his fealty to the Dark Prince, Severus Snape became one in the same with the feared Fallen Angel. There would be a new battle over loyalty before the war was through. Whichever side won his allegiance permanently would likely win the war. He had no delusions of his prominence. He was well aware that he could command the Dark Lord's horde to suicide if he felt so inclined.  
  
At the moment, neither Severus Snape nor the Dark Prince knew where he would go when the time to define the lines with out the blur. 


	4. The Rules of War

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The Rules of War  
  
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He needed an extra special gift for his Lord now. He suspected the gift he was planning would fit the order, but he really should thank his master twice. Once for the rebuilding of his power and once for the increase.  
  
That was settled then. Two gifts. And the second would be greater than the first.  
  
The first would be war. The second would be victory.  
  
They would be worked around his master's plans, of course.  
  
But first, war.  
  
He had been there when the Minister of Magic. Cornelius Fudge, refused to admit to the reappearance of the Dark Lord. He had also foolishly tried to convince the man. But it was unlikely that the Minister would even speculate as to his existence. Well, at least that of the Dark Prince.  
  
The Ministry was more than willing to cover up any mention of him during the first war. He was conveniently rationalized as a specter, nothing more than a name to frighten little children.  
  
But he had done more than frighten children. He had frighten the entire wizarding world.  
  
While his Lord Voldemort was a terrifying reality, pushed back to an unmentionable name, and covered with a pseudonym. They were terrified of his Lord. But they wanted to forget about him.  
  
He was the reason half of the Aurors who lived during that time died. He was the reason his master was feared. He was the reason there had been a war to begin with.  
  
And so, as all good things must, a war must begin.  
  
And he knew exactly what would serve as an excellent gift for his master.  
  
"Now, what could my Prince be pondering to the exclusion of all other conversation," his Lord questioned.  
  
"Forgive me, my Lord," the Prince said, bowing slightly. This was the third time he met with his master. They were planning a breach in Azkaban, which would be a perfect opportunity for the Ministry to declare war. "My attention was planning a suitable way to announce you reemergence through a more permanent venue, instead of having half the world disbelieve a boy."  
  
"And what was my Prince intending to do in order to prove to the world I exist."  
  
"I had in mind a kidnapping and a murder, my Lord, of the highest positions in the Ministry."  
  
"Which two were you planning?"  
  
"The Minister of Magic and the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Though I haven't decided which to murder and which to kidnap. I leave that decision to you, my Lord."  
  
"Bring them both, then I'll decide."  
  
"As good as done, my Lord."  
  
"And be so kind as to turn the Department of Mysteries inside out," the Lord added tiredly, but with a conspiratorial smile. "Rookwood was having his hands full with trying to keep things in line. And I'm sure the good witches and wizards of the world would love to know that they are being spied upon."  
  
The Prince grinned behind his mask. He had always wanted to pull down the Department of Mysteries. "Your wish is my command, Master." Why shouldn't he play the apparition? It was far too enjoyable.   
  
"Now perhaps you would care to focus your attention on the matter at hand," his Lord chided. He ducked his head like a shy child caught with his hand in the cookie jar by an over indulgent father.  
  
Inwardly he smiled. This caused a great amount of confusion among the Lord's followers. There were times when they acted the Master and Servant, times when they were Lord and General, and those odd moments when they were Father and Son. Yes, it cause a great deal of confusion when they switched between the three options. The Death Eaters didn't seem to know when one ended and another began through the course of a conversation. True, he played the Servant and General far more often than the Son, but the times he played the Son always shocked those present.  
  
He participated in the discussions, laying out the plans to capture Azkaban. It was decided that the Dark Prince should make a brief appearance at the Prison before attacking the Ministry outright. The plans were simple, mostly his ideas since he would be the General to put them into practice. It would be a smash and grab job in Azkaban, pulling all available Aurors to the island allowing a couple of smaller contingents to infiltrate the Ministry once they were certain the authorities had been notified.  
  
Now there was only time to wait until the pieces fell into place.  
  
The thing he enjoyed most about war was its lack of rules. Nothing was set on how you were to proceed with winning. War crimes were determined by the winner. They were always used as a legitimate way to punish the enemy. Neither side was better than the other when it came to that. Rules were determined by the victor.   
  
But to begin a war the rules of peace must be broken.  
  
That was the only time he desired to condone that premeditated action.  
  
And so, he must wait for the time when rules could be set aside. Not all of the rules, just the ones he needed, when he needed.  
  
However some intrigue must be seen to first.  
  
* * * *   
  
~ What is to be done when the Light vanishes from the Darkest Void on Earth? ~  
  
Dumbledore reread the scrape of paper that had been slipped into his morning mail. It had come with no owl, just was situated between a letter from the Minister and one from his Deputy Headmistress.  
  
He didn't question where it was from, or who wrote it. He was more concerned about what it meant. This was his first such note in over fourteen years. Though those previous ones had more substance, they were just as enigmatic.  
  
The first question was from which side was the author looking. Not always, but usually it mattered.   
  
The second question was where did the references referred. It was a tricky matter if one did not know anything about who would write such a note.  
  
The third question was when was the action to take place. The time was there, hidden in a double meaning, waiting to be overlooked.  
  
For any other wizard, this puzzle would have stumped them for a good while. Dumbledore had the misfortune of reading far too many warnings of similar construction.   
  
Just what was he planning?  
  
* * * * *  
  
The bout in Azkaban began without a hitch. Aurors alerted the Ministry and more Aurors arrived. His appearance seemed to hasten their arrival. Moody must have informed the troops of his arrival. He appreciated the sentiment. Perhaps this round he would be more than the specter. That would be an interesting development.  
  
He almost wished he could stay for the completion of this project. Watching the Aurors battling the Dementors to regain access to their feared prison was amusing. So far none had come close enough to tempt the Dementors' Kiss. It gave Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters opportunities to remove obstructing wards and place them with ones of their own construction.  
  
Soon his selection of followers gathered and they Apparated into a predetermined location in the Ministry.  
  
And people thought this was a protected area. He smirked. This was too easy. Perhaps he should have made his little note more plain. It was very dull when everything went your way. His master understood that and usually indulged his desires. As his Lord expressed that this venture was solely his Prince's undertaken. He just wanted someone to oppose him.   
  
Knowing the present Minister, the idiot would be conferring with his top officials at this moment, among which the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. A perfect and public atmosphere to exercise his new found power.  
  
He motioned to the two he entrusted with the actual removal of his targets. They vanished their masks and robes in favor of something less conspicuous. Simple glamor spells and notice-me-not charms worked their magic as they entered the meeting rooms. They were to get as close to the targets are possible and wait for his further direction. It wouldn't work if the company didn't know who took their leaders.  
  
Granted the Minister was merely a figurehead, but this was merely a show of power in taking him.   
  
The Head of Magical Law Enforcement might actually caused some problems in the organization of counterattacks.  
  
Cornelius Fudge and Amelia Bones.  
  
Slipping into an unnoticed alcove, he watched his men filter through the chaos. It was amazing that no one seemed to think there was anyone out of place. This would be too easy.  
  
He was ready to emerge when the personnel in the room sudden stilled as an unexpected wizard crossed the threshold.  
  
Dumbledore.  
  
Wonderful.  
  
He smiled gleefully.  
  
Finally something to make this interesting.  
  
He didn't wait for Dumbledore to find him, as he was sure would happen should pause too long. Nor was he required to say anything. One look at his alabaster face and they knew.  
  
The whispered statements of denial scattered thoughts of their lost prison. "Impossible." "Can't be." "They said he was dead." "He was never real." "Impossible."  
  
The Minister pompously faced the Dark Prince. "What do you want?" The question was slightly stuttered. Fudge never was one to handle the unexpected with grace.  
  
"To extend an invitation to yourself and Madam Bones, Minister. It would be wise of you to accept," he said graciously, as though showering untold honors upon his targets. However he always had an eye on the Hogwarts's Headmaster.  
  
The mass of confused witches and wizards stared in shock, much like a herd of shepherd-less sheep.  
  
"What do you intend to gain?" Dumbledore questioned. He was quite surprised when the Headmaster did not reveal his identity. Possibly because that would ruin any chance Severus Snape would have of returning to Hogwarts. The Headmaster could not allow that now, could he.  
  
"I believe I have already gained what I intended, Headmaster. My Lord is once again casting fear into the hearts of men. But for those doubting, I intent to gift my Lord with the opportunity for a crushing blow. It would be rude to keep my Lord waiting." He gestured and his shadowed men activated port keys and vanished with the targets. He would follow shortly.  
  
"This is not a game."  
  
"Correct, Headmaster. A game is played by rules. War is not a game. Therefore war is not played by rules. I congratulate you one figuring out where we struck, but I am afraid you were to late."  
  
"You should check again. Even the Dark Prince is fallible."  
  
He debated on a comment. "Whether we succeed tonight or fail, we have succeeded in reminding the world there is a force to be feared." He disappeared from sight in a blur of motion.  
  
Fallible.  
  
Perhaps.  
  
There were somethings he decided were not worth pondering. But fallible. The question was how. He did not like the idea that he had failed.  
  
"Doppelgangers."  
  
He looked at the man addressing him. The one who had port keyed the Minister. "Doppelgangers?" Perhaps Dumbledore determined which of his goals were less important. Or rather which he would take more pride in.  
  
"Fudge and Bones, both, your Highness."  
  
His gifts were delayed in coming. "Azkaban?" Now the messenger looked nervous. They had lost the prison as well. "Who did we get out?" He would wonder how the Aurors achieved this later.  
  
"The ten who were imprisoned."  
  
"Good enough." Lucius would take most of the blame. "Where is the Lord?" They were once again in the Malfoy's manor. It had become the unofficial office of strategy only in that it was less likely to be searched while Lucius was so prominent in society.  
  
"The formal sitting room, your Highness."  
  
He actually found that title irritating. No one ever said that was how to address the Dark Prince. But it fell into place.  
  
However, he was required to be in the Lord's presence and explain tonight's events. And try to determine where he had placed the flawed plan or if it was in the execution. Fallible. But without rules one could never be fallible.  
  
When he entered Lucius had already given his report and was waiting off to the side, avoiding the Dark Lord's interest. Smarter than given credit for.  
  
"What news does my Prince bring?" his Lord asked never once turning to his servant.  
  
He did not know what Lucius faced. It did not matter. His Lord was watching through a window, back towards all. He went to his Lord's chair instead, knelling at its left side. "Dumbledore replaced the targets with Doppelgangers, my Lord."  
  
"Doppelgangers? And how would he know to do that?" The Dark Lord turned slightly. "Lucius, considering you lost Azkaban, it is a wonder you can summon enough stubborn pride to remain standing. Remove yourself." Odd. His Lord seemed to be taking failure without the usual need for punishment. Or had he missed Malfoy's session. "I told you before that this was your enterprise," the Dark Lord continued once his third in command departed the room. "And that all failures would fall upon your head. I will take into consideration that and will allow you to do as you see fit.   
  
"But I warned you about putting you desires before mine. It is my belief your absence at Azkaban proliferated the rate of success. However, since I cannot find proof of this and that Lucius has already admitted to blundering. Your fate in this matter will remain uncertain. Should I find reason to believe you private agendas out-shadow your responsibility to me, I will personally see to your punishment.  
  
"Your games with Dumbledore will not interfere with my plans. Is that clear? Whatever notice you sent to him had better not be found to have contributed to this failure. I dislike begining with a failure. Be glad the most important objected have been reached. You had best prove to me that you are not fallible. I'll send for you when I am ready."  
  
He knew a dismissal when directed so directly. He never said a word. Rose and bowed and backed way three steps and out the door. His Lord was likely brooding over their mistakes, fitting the pieces of the puzzle together neatly.  
  
He would prove he was not fallible. Both to his Lord and the Headmaster.  
  
But that would break the rules.  
  
But then again, when did spies play by the rules.  
  
___________________________________________________  
  
AN: Finally. I swear these characters have a life of their own and are thwarting every attempt I make at trying to direct them. None of this chapter went the way I expected. I'm not to displeased with the result. It just made for one difficult ride.  
  
And a great thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. It means a great deal to me. I find this story to be the most interesting one I've written. Please review and let me know what you think. 


	5. Interlude: Christening the Fallen Angel

Well, the reviews are there, but I know there are more people reading. I have one request. If you are reading leave one review. I feel like I'm on a public T.V. fundraising marathon. ____________________________________________________  
  
Interlude: Christening of the Fallen Angel  
  
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Fallible. He only had failed to bring his gift to the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had calculated on his targeting of the two public heads. Dopplegangers. Magically created doubles, filling the exact physical description and mental capacity of the target. He lost that game. He won't loose the next.  
  
But he hadn't planned his next move.  
  
Not yet.  
  
Let Dumbledore think he was contemplating his set back. When Dumbledore makes his next move, he would be ready. He would be sure Dumbledore was proved just as fallible.  
  
The Headmaster had been proven so years ago when the Prince was just emerging as a threat. When the entire world knew nothing of his origins. When everyone thought the Dark Prince to have been one of their own. Before they regulated him to a specter, a ghost terrifying the masses.  
  
When they christened him the Fallen Angel.  
  
Being 'Fallen' indicates that you had to be at an elevated state to begin with. And to be an 'Angel,' well, the connotations were all wrong.  
  
But should the suspected position be the converse, perhaps he was the Fallen Angel.  
  
It first showed in the Daily Prophet. A testament to some Mudblood Christian. It was because of that zealot that he bore such a title.  
  
"LIKE A FALLEN ANGEL DEATH STRIKES AGAIN"  
  
Most wizard never recognized the relation. They just called the phantom of death the Fallen Angel because it sounded appropriate. That was when there were speculations as to his identity. Ranging from students dropping out of the Auror cadet training to current Aurors dissatisfied with the way the government regulated their ranks. And it hadn't stopped there. Thoughts of low level enforcers sprung up without warning. Even speculation on civilians.  
  
After each new attack, each variation of the death spectacle, guesses were revised, thrown out, or vindicated. Only to be revised again, picked out of the bins, put into question.  
  
They could have been correct. They might have discovered. But they were looking in the wrong direction. They were looking for someone who turned from their way of life to a path of carnage and evil. Someone who could have "fallen."  
  
Severus Snape had never fallen from grace. He had never been in their grace ever in his short battered life. Nor had he ever sought grace. It wasn't tempting. He had been satisfied with where he was, even if it appeared to be the bottom. Most of the time it was unnoticed. Those few times when he was isolated into public spectacle, he took it. Tried to retaliate. But nothing really worked. But that was a beginning.  
  
A beginning for his self. A building of jealousy. A burning for revenge. He had fulfilled his desires. Found his place. And withdrew from their pleasant, ignorant, self-centered little world.  
  
He joined with their world's forenamed Devil.  
  
In which case that Mudblood zealot was wrong. The Christian Devil had been the Fallen Angel, not the Devil's closest servant.  
  
But neither he nor his Dark Lord had ever fallen from grace, from that perfect, imperfect, world of theirs. No. They had never been part of that. Never tried to belong.  
  
The only thing his Lord or his self had in common with that Devil was the tendency to cause trouble. And the only reason they were likened to that Devil was they were despised. And what is despised by a populous was immediately regulated to the lowest reaches of the dominant religion. Pity it had to be Christianity. He would have preferred the Norse Pantheon. They were much more like Loki and his sister Hel.  
  
Loki had failed. But he had succeeded. Ragnarok took place and those destined to die did, and those destined to live did.  
  
But he was the Devil's Advocate. And he relished it.  
  
Severus Snape knew. Of course he would know. But it wasn't Severus Snape who was the Dark Prince. At least not at that time. No, Severus Snape was a pawn. Someone to be used and discarded. But there was a part of Severus Snape that did not want be discarded. The part that wanted to control. To be part of the game as a player not a piece.  
  
That was who became the Fallen Angel to the pristine world of the Gryffindors. That was who took the reigns of terror for his Lord and cut loose the dogs of war.  
  
No one knew who the Fallen Angel was. No one suspected. Not any more.  
  
They stopped when the death count rose to great. They stopped when they refused to admit one man could do such an atrocity. They stopped when they refused to admit a MAN could do such things. They stopped.  
  
Now it didn't matter.  
  
Now he returned and they would not begin. Not now.  
  
Dumbledore knew. But Dumbledore wanted his Severus Snape back.  
  
But now Severus Snape was the Fallen Angel.   
  
Not him. Not any longer. Not in the true sense of the word.  
  
That was strange, was it not? That the man who never would want to be became so?  
  
They were the same now. The same and the Dark Prince of the Dark Lord. And what did Severus think of this all? Or did he have such a dominance over Severus that it did not really matter. But it wasn't really dominance. No. He shared too many beliefs that originated with Severus.  
  
Together they were known as the Fallen Angel.  
  
And to the Lord, he was seen as perfect in their haven. Seen to do no wrong. Seen as the perfect son.  
  
Severus will change all that. But an hour until he spoke his side, he would remain the perfect servant.  
  
Secretly he knew he was the Fallen Angel in truth. He knew he would denounce his Lord. He knew the Christian zealots were wrong. They were wrong in how they looked.  
  
He knew he would betray his Lord in the end. But knowing sowed no solace. His Lord was his All. But he was willing to shy away from his Lord. Leave and never return.  
  
Why was this?  
  
Why was he ready to leave?   
  
Why did he listen to Severus? He was plenty capable of subduing the other consciousness. Why didn't he? Was there something worth listening to? Or was it just another way to continue the game? One way or another he was willing to betray his Lord.  
  
Perhaps it was just as Severus had told Dumbledore years ago. The Lord was not going with his objectives as he should and flouting his following's uses to gain nothing more than petty revenge. Revenge against who? The massed proclaimed Messiah.  
  
Such a mockery of the religious pantheon.  
  
He the Fallen Angel fallen from the grace of his Dark Lord who fears the Messiah of the other side.  
  
Such a show of ignorance.  
  
Then why did he work for this saint of whom his Lord would prefer to kill. But Dumbledore was no saint in reality, merely in reputation. Why was he falling to that side of the Holy War? Why did he not remain as he was and continue to terrorize the masses?  
  
There were many issues he refused to ponder. Many issues he knew had no solution.  
  
It was his choice to follow Severus and fall from the grave of his Lord. It was his choice to follow Severus and become fallible. It was his choice to become less than a god.  
  
It was his choice.  
  
Then why did he regret it?  
  
Why did he refuse to believe he could be fallible?  
  
Simple. He wanted to remain a god. He wanted to remain as he was. He wanted the thrill of being in control. And betray his Lord was the ultimate price of keeping that control.  
  
But he wanted to remain loyal. Loyal to his Lord. And he tried to remain. He wanted to remain in grace.  
  
He did not want the title of the Fallen Angel. To be "fallen" you had to have been in an elevated state. To be an "angel" you had to have been placed in a perfect state of grace.  
  
He did not want to loose his state of grace.  
  
He did not want to be his Lord's Fallen Angel.  
  
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Did I get a rise out of any of you? 


	6. The Rules of Deception

AN: All right, I will apologize for the delay. However, no one in this story wanted to work together. But after a nice brainstorming session with Lady Erised many of the plot holes have been solved. Just don't ask how long it will last. I think I know where I am going, but rules and interludes either flow easily or drip infrequently. So when the Dark Prince decides on the end, he'll let you know.  
  
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The Rules of Deception  
  
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The wait was lasting far too long. Time was not a luxury and he wanted to resolve the issues soon. He was gaining the impression that the Headmaster had no inclination to move within in his turn of the game. The time was about to come where rules needed to be bent.  
  
Where the Headmaster would not act, he would.  
  
As it was not his turn, his actions must not be perceived until long after their completion. After all, he could not break his own rules completely.  
  
He needed a distraction. One not connected to him. He needed a deception.  
  
One that would keep the Headmaster's attention long enough for him to act. Long enough for him to respond. Long enough for things to continue.  
  
A deception that would end the stalemate.  
  
Something that would attract the Ministry.  
  
Something that would attract the Dark Lord.  
  
Someone who would attract the Headmaster.  
  
A bitterly triumphant smile ghosted across his face.   
  
"Your Highness," a slightly nervous voice interrupted his plans. Under other circumstances he might have expressed his displeasure, but as it was he was waiting for an interruption. "The Dark Lord is requesting your presence."  
  
It had been several days since his failure. Waiting was never good.  
  
To his knowledge the Dark Lord had not left Malfoy's study. Nor did it appear as if his Lord had moved from the empty frame of glass. Again Lucius was already present, waiting nervously near a large double desk, appearing to have been taking a letter.  
  
Again he went to the large, overstuffed wing-back, which was always used by the Lord when within this room. Again he knelt to the left and waited.  
  
"That will be all, Lucius. Leave the papers and get out." Ever prompt, Lucius bowed and retreated. "I hope you have considered the consequences of your failure." The Dark Lord finally turned and walked to the desk recently vacated by Lucius. "You might be interested, my Prince, in what the Ministry has been hiding within Azkaban. It seems Lucius managed to complete that portion of your plan. Come." His Lord beckoned.  
  
There was confusion, but he refused to show it. Instead he approached. The papers contained very interesting pieces of intelligence. Not related in the least to the prison. If nothing else he learned what was not covered in interrogation reports.  
  
The most important informations.  
  
"Most interesting, my Lord. Has Lucius seen this?"  
  
"He did not search through what I considered interesting. I assume you could formulate something productive given these reports.  
  
Productive. A question of relativity. "And what has my Lord determined as the goal?"  
  
"The goal, my Prince, has always been the same. You unfortunately have lost sight of that while playing your games. I should not need to remind you."  
  
"No, my Lord, you should not." He teetered on a dangerous edge when he was forced to admit ignorance.  
  
"Perhaps I have given you far too much leeway," Lord Voldemort said as the hematite bars responded to his anger. "Perhaps I have been far too generous. Or perhaps you have taken too much liberty. You have returned essentially without reputable harm to your person or reputation. I have given you much in the way of resources for you to proceed with your own agendas in addition to my own. And now you presume to question me as to my determined goal?"  
  
He staggered slightly as the radiated pain increased. It was not his nature to plea for forgiveness, not his Lord's to grant it whimsically. What must be suffered would be suffered.  
  
And the Dark Lord continued, "How is it the men who should have no knowledge of my goal have a fair idea, while you, the one who should know it intuitively, must ask?"  
  
Stiffly he bowed, having no response suitable.  
  
"Surely my worries are unfounded. There is no possible way for you to divulged such information only to have conveniently forgotten." Lord Voldemort's rage as conducted through the bars had been steadily increasing and had now reach the level just below intolerable. His Master paused to study his Prince. What followed was a battle of wills. One he had already forfeited to his Lord upon admitting his lack of knowledge. Unless he could suddenly recall the lost piece of information, it was necessary for him to step down.  
  
He withdrew the mask and bowed out.  
  
"You will cease you petty games with Dumbledore, Severus," his Master continued as though nothing remarkable had occurred. "They have wasted precious time and resources."  
  
Rule number one of deception: know the limitations, for you must have knowledge as to when and where those to be deceived were to look.  
  
The pain of the curse had lessened slightly and was still rising.  
  
"You should know, or at least I would hope you knew, what my objective is. It has yet to change from the time of the first terror. I have only recently included Harry Potter in my goal. I will admit that attempting to kill him off before I had accomplished my first task was hasty. However, it is more imperative to be rid of him before I am able to complete my objective. Have I made myself clear?"  
  
"Inescapably, my Lord."  
  
His master spared him a piercing glare in order to weigh the understanding of such a statement. His Lord found what he was looking for and continued, "Then we shall discuss the use of these documents, for I doubt a method of utilization has failed to come to you, my Prince."  
  
Favor was a fickle thing. When it showed itself in such abundance, one would be a fool to not take everything.  
  
Rule number two of deception: seize the opportune moment without hesitation, it will never present itself twice.  
  
"It seems interesting that the Aurors in charge of Azaban found it important enough to create transcripts of the prisoners' insane ravings. However, what concerns me is the commentary is quite in depth, but without any clear idea as to how to use the information. From Rookwood's ramblings, it is a wonder the Ministry did not take measures to silence him. I am thinking Azkaban Aurors had an objective all they're own. It is possible they were interested in upsetting the balance of the Ministry, using the former Ministry personal as leverage."  
  
"You are forgetting the rest of the transcripts."  
  
"I have not yet, my Lord. Most of the commentary are on those the Ministry thought trustworthy. It could be they only wished to learn what mistakes they made the first time and learn to avoid them. Or they could be looking for wizards of these traits to assist in their plots."  
  
"I have never taken you as one to see deception in every action, my Prince. What is causing you to believe such from these?"  
  
"These comments suggest more interest in babbling than suitable for a law abiding Auror to show."  
  
"Blackmailing Aurors, my Prince? How interesting. Take what you need and return once you have solved your equation."  
  
He took the stack of documents before his Lord could change his mind. It was not the Aurors' supposed conspiracy he wanted to make use of. It was the Aurors' desire and tendency to hide information that could prove vital in releasing the innocent and condemning the guilty. But of course it was in his best interests to condemn the innocent and condemn the guilty. The fewer who got in his way the easier his goals were reached.  
  
"My Lord, by this evening I'll have a way to remove the Ministry."  
  
"Don't involve Dumbledore." His Lord's voice was hard with command. "This is against the Ministry. No games."  
  
He bowed. "Of course not, my Lord."  
  
As he did not leave immediately, "What is it?"  
  
He looked up. "If necessary, I might need to use Rookwood."  
  
"Then do so."  
  
"Dumbledore will also involve himself despite our intentions."  
  
"He will no doubt attempt to interfere with the Ministry. That is to be expected. But you are not to make a game out of his involvement."  
  
"Of course not, my Lord."  
  
The simplicity of removing the vital information proved to be an unwelcome surprise. His Lord returned to his window overlooking a black night, leaving him to remove the documents without contest. This also meant Lucius Malfoy could decide there was something important he had not studied.  
  
It was too easy for him to loose the edge he needed.  
  
It would be too suspicious for him to leave the premies at the moment, but Malfoy could prove to be a dangerous loose end. And a necessary decoy.  
  
But first too solve the problem of no games with Dumbledore. And he had a perfect target.  
  
Rule number three of deception: the set up should always be noted while being unnoticed.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"Sirius, you've got mail."  
  
"Who's it from, Moony?" the man in question called from the kitchen of his dusty old home. But no one had used the place in at least twelve years, so it was the perfect place to hide a secret society bend on the destruction of Voldemort. "Is it from Harry?"  
  
"No," Remus sounded uncertain. "It came on a crow. A wild one at that." His old friend entered, studying the folded parchment. "The only writing is your name, Sirius Black."  
  
"A wild crow?" Mrs. Weasley questioned, joining them to peer at the letter. "I'd best alert Professor Dumbledore. You never know who could have sent it. Or how they knew to find you." Sirius glanced up as the motherly witch swept passed to find a certain portrait.  
  
"Do you recognize the handwriting, Sirius?"  
  
"No, I've never seen it." He took the heavy paper from Remus. It looked more like an envelope stuffed with papers than one letter. He moved to open it.  
  
"Don't. Wait for Dumbledore. We don't know what could have been sent."  
  
"Nor do we know how long Dumbledore will take to get here."  
  
"A mysterious letter from a wild crow?" The Headmaster's calm voice drifted down towards them.  
  
Sirius cracked a wide grin. "Obviously no time at all. Wish he would teach me that." When the professor appeared on the last step, he said, "You're just in time. I was just about to open it."  
  
"May I see this letter, Sirius?" Dumbledore asked holding his hand ready to receive. Sirius handed it over without question. Just as the Headmaster saw the letters on the envelope, something akin to recognition and realization appeared on his face. "It should be quite safe to open. It is unlikely the sender would attempt assassination without being present."  
  
Carefully Sirius opened the letter. When nothing happened he removed the papers from within.  
  
~ Until the eleventh hour these will see. Until the eleventh hour men aren't free. Until the eleventh hour there are three. Until the eleventh hour we will meet.  
  
Those who watch and those who listen remain unseen by those who live and those who scream. It was not that you were aware; it was that you were ignorant. There are those who knew and there are those who hid and there are those lied: the knowledge remains left for the taking. The knowledge remains when the truth will flee. And when the truth has fled, those who lied hide the one who knew.  
  
It is your choice and chance to remove the blocks and remove those who knew. ~  
  
He slammed the paper hard on the table. "That makes no sense! Until the eleventh hour? Those who did whatever he said?"  
  
"Perhaps we will better understand what he means by looking at the accompanying papers." Dumbledore shifted through the attachments. The papers turned out to be transcripts. Of him. In Azkaban. Under Veritaserum. But he had never. He would have remembered. Right?   
  
"This could be useful, right?" Remus asked in awe.  
  
Sirius was still in shock. "They knew," he whispered. They knew and he had still be locked away for twelve years. "Damn it! THEY KNEW!"  
  
"Can't we just take this to the Ministry? Have them explain it?" Remus was fishing. Even Sirius knew the Ministry would never believe that piece of paper.  
  
"They would ask where we got it and assume it was forged. It is not the actions of the Ministry that worry me," Dumbledore confessed quietly. "It is the actions of the man who sent this. Just what is he planning?" he added more to himself.  
  
"Just what is who planning?" Remus asked. Sirius waited for the answer. It would likely involve him.  
  
"The Dark Prince."  
  
"Snape!? Why would he send this to ME?"  
  
"Severus and the Dark Prince are different, as I have learned. Inhabiting the same body, yet still different. As for this, I will admit to not knowing. It could be a warning, a threat, a taunt, or even assistance we do not know we need."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"I mean, Remus, that the Dark Prince and Severus are still confused. I have received such letters in the past and am not entirely sure what they mean. I can only guess."  
  
"What do you think it means, Headmaster?"  
  
"It was written to you, Sirius, so it is your interpretation that will matter most."  
  
Sirius sat heavily at the kitchen table. It was still Snape writing this, no matter what the Headmaster said. Therefore it was most likely a threat and a taunt than anything useful. Except there were those transcripts of him under Veritaserum. With Aurors commenting on how it was unfortunate that he was innocent and that the best thing for the community was to keep him locked away.  
  
"He wants me to walk into a trap!"  
  
Remus and Dumbledore did not bother to hide their surprise.  
  
******  
  
Rule number four of deception: get everything moving before anyone knows you have more than one angle.  
  
The Aurors responsible for the unregulated interrogations had been notified. A pleasant job. He regulated that to Rookwood. He only needed two components to come into place. And his Lord knew of them both.  
  
But first to set the deception for the deceived.  
  
And that part was walking into the pre-made trap with complete predictability. So long as the others went accordingly. There would only be a short window when his actions would not be perceived. He must use what was alloted.  
  
"Well, Snape, what is it you want?" Right on time. "Dumbledore and Remus didn't seem to think you were up to anything."  
  
"Still not using your own brain? How charming. Though I am sure you could have convinced them sooner or later."  
  
"You sure didn't give me much time. Eleven hours after those papers arrived, they vanished. But you planned that didn't you."  
  
"Perhaps. There was always the chance you would decide not to listen." He had to play this carefully. Sirius thought he was speaking to Severus Snape. That was not so, but Sirius refused to accept that knowledge even while he was staring at the three hematite bars broken only by the narrow slit for the eye.  
  
"I am prepared to do what is necessary to get the truth exposed." Just what a Gryffindor would do. Anything for the Truth. Anything for Justice. "Though I never thought you would be responsible for it, Snape. After all, you were the one so determined to have me get the Kiss." Good. Anger and bitterness. That will make it all the easier. "So why are you doing this? Why are you helping?"  
  
"I believe the Muggles put it best. I have bigger fish to fry; you are just the bait."  
  
"WHAT! I knew it was a trap!"  
  
"And still you walked into it. Though I'm not in a position to gloat." Footsteps and hushed voices penetrated their little space in time. Right on time. Sirius turned, wand ready to defend. Against the wrong enemy. "Trust me, Black, you'll thank me for this later." He wished he could have savored the look of surprise and betrayal for a longer period. "Stupefy."  
  
* * * * * *   
  
"Black is suppose to help your plan, how?" Lucius was always impatient when he did not understand.  
  
"He is the one thing the Ministry wants in return for cooperation." He did not turn to speak to Lucius. Instead he focused on his Lord. "He is how we will break the Ministry and Dumbledore in one blow, my Lord"  
  
He stood many feet from his Master's throne. The body of Black had been disposed of at the feet of his Lord as a gift. It was a poor substitute, and only served as a promise for a thing greater.  
  
The whole of the Inner Circle was present. Making this an important turn of events. Things must be laid out perfectly so the fragile house of cards would not fall.  
  
"You still persist in playing games with that old fool," the Dark Lord began dangerously. "For your sake you had better hope you do not fail." His Lord would not kill him for failure, but he had no desire to know the consequences first hand. "Very well, my Prince. What precisely do you have planned for this man? You only mentioned two of the birds we could kill with one stone."  
  
"Forgive me, my Lord. Harry Potter would also be a viable target. Provided Dumbledore doesn't know he is aware."  
  
Rule number five of deception: simplicity, nothing elaborate, the less that there is to go wrong, the less that will go wrong.  
  
The Dark Lord nodded to himself. The possibilities to consider.  
  
"Continue," Lord Voldemort waved for him to state his plan in full.  
  
"There is a location that was agreed to be neutral for the meeting with the Aurors in question, though it is far from neutral. A source hoping to reap the rewards of capture has tipped off the Ministry as to where and when they may find Sirius Black. Dumbledore will surely hear of this through his hidden connections within the Ministry and attempt to rescue his favorite mutt. And I am certain you, my Lord, will discover a way to tempt Harry Potter to join."  
  
"A gathering of the key figures without their support. Clever. How much of this is petty revenge, I wonder?"  
  
He carefully concealed a a threatening smile. "Much of it, my Lord. It was far too valuable opportunity to miss. Once the targets have arrived, you may see to the players as you see fit. I hold no claim, my Lord. They are a gift for you."  
  
Between them, Black shifted in the evil ambiance.  
  
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AN: FYI, there will be a total of thirteen chapters in this story, seven more to go. And a lot of thanks goes to Lady Erised for listening to me ramble on about what I was going to do for the rest of the plot. Thank you, thank you, thank you.  
  
TBC... and the fun really begins. 


	7. The Rules of Engagement

AN: Confused? So am I. Know who is being deceived? Want to tell me? Because I think the Dark Prince is doing a grand job of confusing me. And do you trust me? Do you really believe there are 13 chapters?  
  
anonymous: Thanks for being the only reviewer for Chapter 6. But as for Sirius torture... Well, in this story he just happens to be the answer, not so much for torturing.  
  
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The Rules of Engagement  
  
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The place was unassuming. Few knew the name, and fewer still knew the location on the map. A great effort had been put forth so those who needed to know would find out. He had made sure of that. Or rather he had made sure the right people had the right information. He was not suppose to play games any longer. However, the time for games ended long before this event.  
  
The Dark Lord and the Dark Prince were the first to arrive. The first to arrive, but the last to appear.  
  
The Dark Prince watched, standing beside his Lord, as the suspicious Aurors arrived first. They came loudly and abruptly. Announcing their presence as though there was nothing to fear. A total of three. The rest of their contingency had been killed in the raid on Azkaban.  
  
The Dark Prince watched as Fudge and Bones appeared. Aurors should have joined, but the wards he had set carefully limited the number of people that could arrive.  
  
The two factions from the Ministry stared in confusion.  
  
The Dark Prince and the Dark Lord felt the arrival of Harry Potter, hiding under his Invisibility Cloak. The Dark Prince had been careful to only allow Potter through, not his friends.  
  
They were waiting for Dumbledore now. Who did not disappoint. And appeared in the company of Remus Lupin. The previous arrivals stood startled. Though in actuality the final number was carefully calculated.  
  
Rule number one of engagement: plan your enemy's strategy for him; if not, have better than educated guesses.  
  
An even two dozen Death Eaters surrounded the key figures in their little scheme. The word "trap" echoed though the empty minds. Only Dumbledore seemed to have been expecting this.  
  
Standing before them were two men in pure white masks, one short, fat, and quite arrogant; the other had no outstanding characteristics, except that he stood heads taller than his companion. Between their trained wands slumped a slightly battered figure. One who had been on the wrong end of the wand one too many times.  
  
Rule number two of engagement: out number and have the enemy at the point of disadvantage.  
  
The Dark Prince left the shadows first. As was the case during the raid on the Ministry, he need not say a word. But this time, they knew he was real.  
  
"Come now, Harry Potter, are you not going to say hello to your godfather?" the Dark Prince said. "And how does a boy who is not suppose to use magic find his way to a place he is not suppose to know the location of?"  
  
The cloak fell, revealing boy and broom. Sirius Black appeared shocked, which was nothing to the Ministry officials. In the preoccupation, the Dark Lord appeared. Once again upsetting any balance.  
  
"Now that we are all here, I believe it is time to end things." Lord Voldemort turned to the three out of place Aurors. "Let us begin with you three, shall we. And I wouldn't try anything Dumbledore," he mentioned to the old wizard, not deigning to glance in that direction, "not even you could stop everyone before your precious Gryffindors perished."  
  
Dumbledore's hand was stayed. Black was given greater attention.  
  
"I suppose the three of you are wondering why you are here," The Dark Lord began casually. "Frankly you are of no consequence, but I thought you might like to know that it is through your underhanded efforts that allowed this night to take place. Without your illegal interrogation of Sirius Black, and your subsequent erasion of those memories, I would be without the information needed to lure him in. You came for those papers, I believe. And that was our bargain, was it not? You wanted the papers, we wanted the Minister. As I always keep a bargain, you shall have them." Voldemort gestured for a nearby Death Eater to bestow a large package before the still uncomprehending Aurors.  
  
The morons had not said anything that the Dark Prince had heard. And would soon not say a word more. It was hard to tell who looked like Twidle-dee, Twidle-dumb, or Twidle-dumber as they looked for help from the Minister. Fudge himself was doing an excellent job of imitating a fish out of water.  
  
"Now that that's settled, I bid you farewell. Gentlemen."  
  
Three masked Death Eaters broke from the circle and stood in front of the Aurors. At the same instant, they said "Aveda Kedavra." They went down to a small chorus of surprise and anger.  
  
Rule number three of engagement: remove the strongest among the weakest first.  
  
Dumbledore accused first, "That served no purpose, Tom."  
  
"Did it not? I think otherwise. Three less to oppose me. Though I don't really know why they wanted to put Sirius Black as my right hand man. I really prefer the left." The Dark Lord took that opportunity to introduce his Dark Prince.  
  
"You bastard! Sirius was right about you all along!"  
  
"Remus!"  
  
"That's right, Dumbledore, call to heel your pet werewolf."  
  
"If I may, my Lord." The Prince bowed into the ensuing verbal blows.  
  
"Of course, my Prince. It was you who organized this little get together. It would be a shame for you not to give your own explanations."  
  
"That's just sick." The new voice wafted harshly from the only man tied as prisoner.  
  
"Play nice, Black, or your old friend might find reason for his wand to slip," Voldemort chuckled lightly. "Wormtail, perhaps a reminder is in store." The squat man removed his mask with a silver hand, formerly well hidden under his robes. The face of Wormtail betrayed nervousness, all the while sporting superior smugness.  
  
"Since we are all revealing our secrets," the Prince stated regaining the stage. "I feel obligated to correct our dear werewolf. He is, unfortunately, laboring under the pretenses that he is speaking with Severus Snape. I am sorry to disappoint, but Severus is no longer with us. Nor has he been for a long time. It is a wonder you did not listen to the Headmaster. You do so in every other case. Severus was merely a tool to be used. And to be discarded when that use is over. I, however, remain."  
  
"Severus holds more influence than you realize."  
  
"Have you forgotten the declaration that I am my Lord's? I gave you Severus. And that man is no more."  
  
"As stimulating as this conversation is," the Dark Lord interrupted. "And I wouldn't go for my wand just yet, Potter. Not unless you intend to surrender it over to me." That wand never saw the light of the moon. "Now where was I? Ah yes. Your wand, Dumbledore, or his life." Voldemort nodded to his Prince and presently there were three deadly wands aimed at the prisoner.  
  
"Now see here!"  
  
"Fudge," distain. "One more word from you and I shall have to display your rotting corpse to the public instead of killing you in front of them. Either way, I doubt your public will miss you too much." The Minister could not snap his mouth shut fast enough. Must have thought there was still hope, judging by his looks towards Dumbledore.  
  
"Now which is it, Dumbledore. Your wands or his life?"  
  
"You will just kill him anyway." The Headmaster's words sparked interesting reactions from his followers. Strangled noises issued from Black's throat, but that may have been from Wormtail's rough treatment. A loud squawk of protest from the convict's godson. And the near impossible feat of having ones eyes pop out of one's head from the animagus's friend.  
  
"Yes well, judging by the normal Gryffindor tendency, one would believe you would be more than willing for the extended period in which to plan any heroics. All in the hopes you are able to free yourselves, of course."  
  
Dumbledore reached into his robes, Lupin mimicked the movement. Oddly, so did the blasted Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
"Don't do it!" Black had the typical reaction. Wanting to die to keep his friends armed for a fight they would loose anyway.  
  
Once the wands were drawn, it was apparent none were offered for the taking. At least not for the easy removal of the surrendered. All of the Death Eaters steadied their own weapon, already prepared for a conflict.  
  
"Now really, Dumbledore. Do you think that wise? Everyone of you has at least two behind you ready to cast the Killing Curse at a mere word."  
  
Rule number four of engagement: keep you advantage for as long as possible.  
  
"Then you had best be able to say the word quickly, Tom. Before you are prevented from doing so."  
  
Calculation from both sides. The Dark Prince edge nearer to the target. Few paid him any mind. Too busy wondering who would curse who first. That really should have been an easy decision.  
  
He was ready for the next move. "Well, Black. Your beloved Headmaster doesn't seem to think you are worthy of his attention. Not that I find that surprising at all. Headmaster, my Lord asked for your wands, so I suggest you comply. Or are you really in the mood to know exactly what will happen?"  
  
"I was unaware you were allowed to make those decisions." Mocking? Odd. Dumbledore was not normally the type to mock. Some things were not questioned.  
  
"You under estimate his power of observation." Lord Voldemort spoke with a carelessness few would recognize as concern for his own well being. The Dark Prince, however was aware, and was wary. Dumbledore was not going to be persuaded. Things were going to get tricky.  
  
"One last chance for the completely Gryffindor way out, Headmaster. The wands, or his life."  
  
"Some days I wonder if I was really in Gryffindor." The Headmaster must be expecting something. Perhaps from his spy.  
  
He did not grace the statement with a response. Turning slowly, one wary eye on Dumbledore, he took aim. "Aveda Kedavra."  
  
Rule number five of engagement: prove you mean every word you say; it will be one lesson they won't soon forget.  
  
It seemed no one had anything to say.  
  
Well, except for Lucius. He could see the man fidget in his position next to the Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort's visage was a carefully controlled mask, hiding slight confusion. A glance at the kill revealed a Wormtail frozen in terror and the taller man crouched, ready to duel. The Gryffindors had yet to close their mouths.  
  
He gave the man until the count of two and he had just passed the one and a half mark.  
  
"That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen you do!"  
  
"Was it? Judging from your actions, it was quite intelligent." And the Dark Lord said nothing. He would not compromise his trust in his Prince openly before the enemy. "You mean you would have just stood there, demanding more and more loudly for their wands, only to have them refuse each time because you did not have the nerve to show them you were serious. Your level of stupidity reaches new heights everyday." Malfoy's wand was now trained on the Prince. "Be sure you don't miss. You won't survive the consequences."  
  
"Aveda Kedavra!"  
  
The distance was to small to dodge. And nothing could block that spell.  
  
The pristine white mask with the hematite bars gained a hairline fracture as the man supporting it fell with a soft thud on impact.  
  
Not a word.  
  
Not a sound.  
  
Not a movement.  
  
"STUPEFY!" The voice of a boy who has lost everything begins the chaos.  
  
The curse was aimed for Voldemort, but Lucius was in the way.  
  
Death Eaters went down only due to their own shock at seeing their idol topple.  
  
Peter Pettigrew fell to Remus Lupin. A distance of many yards.  
  
Others fall to Dumbledore's wand. He was aiming for Voldemort.  
  
Fudge and Bones decimated from behind. Those Death Eaters not brave enough to kill head on.  
  
Bodies fall. Spells flash. Noise distracts. Lights blinds. Wounds bleed. Shouts not heard. Lives lost.  
  
The mask recovered. Taken by the Master and the corpse left behind.  
  
No one knows when the Dark Lord vanished from the field. But when it was noticed, the Death Eaters fled. Left were the dead.  
  
Stillness.  
  
"Harry?" Search for the boy first. "Harry, where are you?" Remus called. No answer. "Harry!"  
  
"He's over by Sirius." Headmaster Dumbledore. "Make sure he is all right." Only the Hogwarts's contingent remained standing. Only the Gryffindors. Which ever god protected fools and drunkards must lump that House in with the fools.  
  
The Potter boy was kneeling at his godfather's side. To late to be of use. "Sirius." Lost. The things we care about the most are always lost first.  
  
"Oh, Harry." Remorse. Grief. All pale before the sight of loss. Wrapped protectively by one who knows, tears flooded freely, seeking escape never allowed. No words spoken, all intuitive. All for one man who should never had been the cause.  
  
"It doesn't matter now, does it?" Harsh words, hastily spoken. Angry words, without thought. Words only the heartbroken could achieve. Bitter words, knowing no solace.  
  
"We still have him." The one thing that could solved the dilemma lay sprawled side by side with the stigmata of despair. "It is never to late."  
  
"But who will believe it." No comfort.  
  
"We have that body." Revenge. With such a strong desire. Woe be to those who stand in the path of destruction.  
  
"Madame Bones is not dead yet." Invasion of a foreign element. Stoic. Grief needing release. Grief denied release. "And we should be expecting company soon." Pause. Swallow. Retain control. Can not afford to give into what threatens. Sorrow seeps through tightly shut eyelids. Confidence must be maintained. But confidence is lacking. Cannot look. Cannot see. Will not, until baser matters are dealt with accordingly.  
  
"Gone."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Severus. His body is not here." Grief torn by loyalty.  
  
Tears. Tears at the broken.  
  
________________________________________________________________  
  
AN: swallows I don't know. Honestly. Everything up to the crack in the mask was planned. After that, I just don't know. feels very shaken  
  
Six more chapters to go until all is revealed. Deception is a wonderful tool. 


	8. Interlude: The Forging of the Mask

AN: Did I kill who? No one knows what REALLY happened, except for me and the Dark Prince. It is a conspiracy between us. I write what he does, and he does what he wants.   
  
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Interlude: The Forging of the Mask  
  
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Its creation was miraculous. Never before had any one thing been made for the sole purpose of ultimate devotion. Never before had one thing been so perfect upon completion. Never before had one thing been accepted without reservations. Never before had he created anything this great.  
  
It had been his to give and his to make. It had not been asked for, only mentioned in passing.  
  
Made of alabaster. Carved carefully with spells. Meant to form perfectly around his own face. The craftsmanship was superb. Nothing could be its equal. He had made it that way. His Lord had marked him above the rest, and he needed a symbol to prove to his Lord that he was worthy of his position.  
  
The time had been months. Months to craft the the thin, delicate, yet sturdy structure that would be his mark. Months of slow and precise spells. Months of imbuing strength and protection charms and potions into a ready vessel. Spells within every portion of the inner structure. Potions swirling through every vein.  
  
At the time it was giving, he had not know who would receive such perfection.  
  
But before he could present his Lord and Master with such a prize, he needed a distinguishing feature. And that feature must prove to his Lord that the man who wore that mask would never dream of toppling his Lord.  
  
This is where he put himself in consideration. He should not have. But it was the easiest thing to do. And most assuredly would gain him the position he knew he deserved.  
  
Hematite was the best choice, with no contest as to a substitute.  
  
Nothing else would hold the spells of such complexity and opposing strengths. One to give the power of the face to the master. One to connect the protection of the face to the wearer. And one to bind the spirit to the face.  
  
But it should not have broke.  
  
There was nothing that should have cut through the spells. Nothing that could have penetrated the resistance. For as long as he remained true to his Lord, then nothing would have broken his face.  
  
But his face did break. He had watched it crack. He had been horrified when the green light had clouded the pristine white alabaster. He had not fully expected Lucius to follow through. And was not surprised when he did. But not even the Killing Curse should have fractured his face. But it had.  
  
His Lord thought him gone. His Lord had taken his face and retreated. He had watch his Lord remove Lucius from the battlegrounds. He had watched it all from his position behind the mutt. Anger filled the void. A void he was not known to have. His Lord had taken his face and Lucius, but had left 'him.' He would teach Lucius the consequences soon enough.  
  
That the blonde head of the Malfoy family would dare to assume he was above the Dark Prince was utterly implausible. True there would be consequences enough to go around, but the lion's share would be taken from Malfoy's skin.  
  
For the moment, let Malfoy believe he has truly destroyed the Dark Prince. Let him stew in the knowledge that the Dark Lord will exact deadly revenge. For the moment he reveals himself as alive as them, all the tortures and punishments the Dark Lord could enact will appear to be trivial. Lucius Malfoy had definitely not learned his lesson from the rules of servitude. The man was still over stepping his bounds. Time would come soon enough for the lessons to be driven home.  
  
Yet, the mask had fractured.  
  
Had he been proven fallible yet again?  
  
Had his bind to his Lord been fractured as well?  
  
The traitorous part of his being whispered cruelly, "yes."  
  
If that were so, then why had his Lord protected the mask? The Dark Lord had returned for the face as surely as the Prince would have returned for his Lord.  
  
"But he left you for Dumbledore," the traitor whispered, taunting him.  
  
No, he left Severus for Dumbledore. He knew the old fool would break at the sight of his pet spy dead and destroyed. Just the sight of his precious mutt collapsing dead when he could have easily prevented it.  
  
"Yet if it wasn't for your games, the mask would never have broken."  
  
Yet it was because of his games that he was still here.  
  
He had survived his games and would continue to do so. And he would be his Lord's now and forever. There would be no upsetting the logical way of things. He was and forever will be his Lord's.  
  
"Yet it broke."  
  
A miscalculation. A miscalculation in any one of his spells or potions. And nothing could block Aveda Kedavra anyway. Therefore, the fracture had no bearing to his bond to his Lord.  
  
"You say that now, but how will the Dark Lord view these present circumstances. How certain are you?"  
  
Certain enough. He had not betrayed his Lord. Of that he was certain.  
  
"How is it then that we are Dumbledore's?"  
  
He was loyal only to his Lord. Nothing would break that.  
  
"Betrayal and denial do not work will together. The mask has broke and you are separated from your face."  
  
He will regain his face. He will reappear before his Lord and reclaim the dignity which rightfully belongs to him. And only him. He would not be denied his place beside his Lord.  
  
"The Master, the Servant, and the Spirit are broken. There is no returning."  
  
And he would be returned. He had proven that he was not fallible. He had proven that he was greater that that old fool and that his place was beside his Lord.  
  
This is no returning. Why did that haunt him?  
  
"There is nothing left for you there."  
  
He would return and reclaim his face. He would stand beside his Lord in victory. He would not leave all in pieces and allow the nations to tremble. He was needed by his Lord and he will fulfill that need in anyway necessary.  
  
"But you aren't necessary. Your face is broken. You have nothing left."  
  
But it was Severus who had nothing left. Severus who was no longer necessary. The Dark Lord had left Severus for Dumbledore. He had seen that too. He had watched the venerable headmaster check the dead. Dumbledore had seen Severus's 'body' and passed it by while he was searching for the living. That was when he vanished the Doppleganger. The Headmaster had wanted the body, not the person.   
  
"Did you see what you thought you saw?"  
  
The old man grieved more for the animagus than he did for his lost spy. There was no longer a point to return to that old codger. With the sentimental Gryffindors grieving over the not yet cold body of Black, what purpose would it serve to reappear before the Dumbledore when the old coot already knew he had lost.  
  
"Did the Headmaster really react as though he lost? The Dark Lord fled remember."  
  
But he could always prove to Dumbledore that he had won that round. It was a very simple thing to do. He already was in the practice of sending vague notes, taunting the old codger. Perhaps he would send one reminding the Headmaster that he was always two-steps ahead. That should be enough to incite the marvelous Boy-Who-Lived into a sufficient rage. After all, Potter believed Snape and the Dark Prince were the same regardless. Adding to that myth would be amusing.  
  
"Is it truly myth? I seem to recall a rather embarrassing episode involving Lucius Malfoy."  
  
He had been given his position with the presentation of his face. The Dark Lord expected his Prince to carry out all plans accordingly.  
  
The moon had been full the night he had presented his master with perfection. The mask as pale as the reflected moonlight rested on a shimmering cloth matching the glittering of the hematite bars. Odd that he remember such details on a night like this. The moon was not yet full, nor were the stars glancing off his masterpiece.  
  
That piece of perfection was forever marred.  
  
When his Lord had accepted the alabaster mask, he had been joyous. When his Lord had held the mask for him to accept in turn, he had been ecstatic. He had expected such, but even then the realization of the fact served to prove that he deserved this position. That he was deemed more important in his Lord's eyes. It was the vindication he needed.  
  
Then he had foolishly allowed Severus to convince him that his Lord and Master was not he should. Then he had allowed Severus to retreat to that old fool of a headmaster. Severus now nothing more than a discarded tool.  
  
"And discarded tools are not mourned."  
  
Even if he had to prove his loyalty from the beginning, he would do so. He would not become his Lord's Fallen Angel.  
  
"But we already are."  
  
He felt the call of his Lord. Perhaps his Master knew he was still alive.  
  
"And perhaps he is merely guessing. You really should have informed the Dark Lord as to your plan."  
  
He was needed and he would go. He was necessary to his Lord's plans. Severus Snape was not.  
  
"When it shatters, will you then accept?"  
  
Let the traitorous part of him think as it would. He would never betray his Lord. He would not be the Fallen Angel.  
  
______________________________________________________  
  
Well, what do you think? Has my precious Dark Prince lost it completely? Do you know who the traitorous part is?  
  
Reviewers:  
  
Nameless: If you are concerned about Severus/Dark Prince after chapter 7 then you should be thinking about a St. Mungo's for them right now. But as you can see, Severus/Dark Prince is alive and as confused as you are.  
  
Iyon: I understand you completely, and I think you are right about that last chapter. And I've never been the object of loathing before. But as they say any publicity is good publicity. As you can see Severus is not dead.  
  
Anonymous: Who did I kill? 


	9. The Rules of the Consequences

AN: I'm going to assume I confused you all so completely that you couldn't think of anything to write in a review. But suffice to say, this chapter should answer all the questions left behind from The Rules of Engagement.  
  
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The Rules of the Consequences  
  
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Rule number one of the consequences: you always get your comeuppances.  
  
"Well, what do we do now?"  
  
Peter was in trouble. With no way out. He couldn't transform. He couldn't run for cover. And there was absolutely no one who would help him.  
  
And right now the werewolf was contemplating murder. Or as his old friend, Remus, was calling it: execution.  
  
"With Fudge dead, the Ministry is in shambles. Even more than it was before! We can't just leave him here," the werewolf continued.  
  
"No, that we cannot do," Dumbledore said in a tired tone. Peter had never heard the like. "But with the death of the Dark Prince, I doubt Voldemort will be prepared to stage any rescue attempts."  
  
What Malfoy had done to the Prince was his problem. Not Peter's. No, Peter only had to worry about the repercussions of the death of the Dark Prince. Such as the chaos that was occurring at this very moment because of the death of the Dark Prince. Which meant no outside aid from 'friendly' sources.  
  
"We don't need him alive, do we?" Remus muttered.  
  
Dumbledore did not answer. This frighten Peter.  
  
"I have made sure he cannot transform and Shacklebolt has been reassigned to Peter's case, seeing as that it is closely related." Peter did note that Dumbledore did not mention the fact that Sirius Black was dead. But that didn't help him now. Perhaps he should have killed Black when he had the chance.  
  
But he hadn't. He couldn't. He may have sold out and framed his schoolboy friends. But, he couldn't kill them. He actually didn't mean to kill all those Muggles. He had no problem with injury. But as usual his spells got out of hand.  
  
And what were the consequences of leaving Black alive? The dog escaped and hunted him down.  
  
"When Madam Bones is released from St. Mungo," Dumbledore was saying, " he will be sentenced accordingly."  
  
"Of course, Professor." The wolf was starring at him. Not pleasant. No, not at all. And Dumbledore wasn't looking. He was in trouble. Deep trouble. And there was absolutely no way out of it this time.  
  
***  
  
Rule number two of the consequences: you asked for it.  
  
Rats.  
  
He really did hate rats. Especially one in particular. But he doubted if that one was here.  
  
He growled. But none ran away. He tried to rise. But his head was spinning. He tried to look around. But everything was black.  
  
Then he tried to remember what happened.  
  
Snape.  
  
He really did hate Snape. Why was it always him anyway? But he was the one the one who walked into the trap. And he was the one who knew it was a trap.  
  
Snape had stunned him. Right when his little Death Eater friends were coming to play. He then woke up some place dark. Definitely not here. At least he didn't think so.  
  
That mask was starting to give him nightmares.  
  
Snape had not said a word. No, the bastard just raised his wand and knocked him out cold. Again.  
  
Oh, he was going to make Snape pay. Just as soon as he could get up.  
  
Snape had said he would thank him for stunning him later. And he most certainly would. A nice fist square in the middle of that smug face of his.  
  
Taking stock of his situation, at long last. He noted, distractedly, that he was in his animagus form. Which would possibly be why he was having trouble making his body move correctly. Well, one problem solved. He transformed.  
  
Scaring the rats.  
  
Just not the one he wanted.  
  
He remembered Wormtail being present when Snape had cursed him for that second time. Oh, he would be sure to kill his old friend Peter as well. Just after he did Snape in. How could he have been stupid enough to walk into that trap. Well, he would just have to repay the man.  
  
Now, to find out where he was.  
  
With rats, obviously.  
  
He looked out the window. It was very dark. But what he could see was familiar. Very familiar.  
  
The Shrieking Shack.  
  
Odd place. Why would Snape bring him here?  
  
Probably because his screams would not be noticed by the community. They still thought the place was haunted even over fifteen years since the "ghost" inhabited it. Damn him!  
  
But where was Snape?  
  
Better not to ask that. Sirius really didn't want to know the answer. He just wanted to get out of here. Once his head stopped spinning wildly.  
  
***  
  
Rule number three of the consequences: when it comes, it comes swiftly and harshly.  
  
"Tell me, Lucius," the Dark Lord hissed dangerously. "Tell me what you expected from your little ... display."  
  
Lucius was standing, which was not a good way to start a conversation with Lord Voldemort, but the Dark Lord had allowed him do to anything else. "My Lord, he..." no that wasn't a good way to begin, not at all. "I..." Perhaps once he knew for himself he could answer.  
  
Lucius never heard the curse that hit him. He was only aware of what happened after the pain.  
  
"As a result of you childish grievances and petty annoyances, I have lost a valuable player in this war. And you have already proven you could not possibly hope to replace him. As it is, your careless action has cause me to loose the tactical advantage over Dumbledore and the boy."  
  
An advantage given by the Dark Prince.  
  
Lord Voldemort continued. "My Prince saw a weakness and used it. Your blunder," his Lord whispered venomously, "for I refuse to see it any other way, caused nothing but chaos. Now tell me, what did you expect?"  
  
He shouldn't have used the Killing Curse, Lucius thought stupidly. It was a little late to mourn his mistakes.  
  
"Since it is apparent your expectations did not come to be the correct ones, as I judge from you confused silence, I will show you." Here, the Dark Lord tossed the Dark Prince's marred faceless mask. The hairline fracture ran nearly through the center, curving to the left just under the hematite bars of power. "Take it and tell me you feel no difference."  
  
Lucius cautious and painfully lifted the prize from the dusty floor. None of the power that should have resonated from the mask fill him. It felt dead.  
  
"Put it on."  
  
This was not going to be good. He had tried to forget the last time.  
  
"Since you have designs on replacing the Dark Prince, we must treat you as such. Put it on."  
  
Lucius was standing by the time the mask formed ill-fittingly around his face. No sooner was it in place then the bars radiated heat, burning into his eye threatening to bind him. He was screaming in pain, but the heat only increased. Lucius had already collapsed as though under the Cruciatus Curse.  
  
"Let us see what else is working, shall we?"  
  
The flaring pain vanished. Replaced by a tugging sensation. A very painful tugging force. As though a hook had caught his eye socket and the person was pulling inhumanly hard.  
  
"Shall we test the protective wards on the mask?"  
  
The bang of opening doors halted the proceedings.  
  
Lucius fell in the perfect position to view the look of utter shock flit across the Dark Lord's face.  
  
Whoever it was said not a word, only the sound of the click of boots on the marble floor. Then a view of the stranger's black cloaked back kneeling to the left of Voldemort.  
  
"So, you have returned," Lord Voldemort said looking down at his servant. "You are defiant, I wonder why."  
  
The man said nothing. As expected. Lucius felt dread settle like lead in the pit of his stomach. This night had only gotten worse. He knew who the stranger was as soon as the Dark Lord rose and lifted the man's head.  
  
Somehow the Dark Prince was back.  
  
Somehow the Dark Prince had survived.  
  
Somehow the Dark Prince lived.  
  
How?  
  
The red eyes bore holes even through Lucius as Voldemort trained his gaze on the kneeling man before him. "Where have you been?" It was a simple statement, said as flatly as possible. Under different circumstances the phrase could have been used in the classroom setting. Expressing no surprise, the Dark Lord removed his hand and the Prince lowered his head once more. "I won't bother with asking you your excuse," the Dark Lord said as he returned to his throne. "But I will ask you what you have been doing all this time and how you are here." There was a long pause. "Rise."  
  
Snape rose. And walked to his Master's side.  
  
"I believe you made a vow to Lucius."  
  
'Be sure you don't miss. You won't survive the consequences.'  
  
Somehow he had missed.  
  
"Stand up, Lucius." The voice was contemptuous. The visage hateful.  
  
Shakily, on a dead-man's pair of legs, he obeyed. There was nothing else to be done. He wouldn't see his wife tonight. Nor his son. He had said nothing that would prepare them for his death. He was going to die in his own home without seeing either of them.  
  
At least he would die on his feet. He hoped.  
  
"May I have my Lord's permission to proceed as I desire?" The Prince requested.  
  
"You may do as you see fit, my Prince." A careless wave. He knows. He knows what the Dark Prince wants. And he is doing nothing to stop him.  
  
"Avada Kedavra."  
  
On his feet.  
  
***  
  
Rule number four of the consequences: when you gamble, you eventually loose.  
  
The mask cracked. Split along the previous fracture. Two pieces. One of pure sparkling white. One marked with the vertical hematite bars.  
  
Shattered.  
  
The traitorous part laugh. Not that it was a pleasant sound. It was more smug than anything else. As though it were taunting him with 'I told you so.' But that was too childish.  
  
Divided in two.  
  
He stooped to reclaim the bars.  
  
His masterpiece destroyed.  
  
"Your actions?"  
  
"A doppleganger, my Lord. Controlled from I stood beside Black."  
  
"And the mutt?"  
  
"As you have seen him, my Lord."  
  
Clever. Neither a lie nor a confession.  
  
His prize snapped in two. Stubbornly, he placed the portion with the bars where it belonged. Covered just less than half his left face. Unsettling.  
  
"You failed to mention this, my Prince. Your reasons?"  
  
The defining question. How to explain why he placed a doppleganger spell on himself without informing his Lord. As faithful as ever, wasn't he. He knew he couldn't very well claim self-preservation, for it was his duty to stand beside his Lord. Yet, he had counted on Lucius doing something stupid and rash. Would that be a good enough reason? He should have informed his Master before he pulled such a stunt.  
  
"I had suspicions, my Lord, that Lucius would attempt a coup." No, he had expected the Gryffindors to react more violently than they had. And earlier. "I had supposed I could take Lucius in the act and surprise him once the act was done."  
  
"And you have evidence?"  
  
"I would show you documents of such, my Lord." He had none.  
  
"Another time." One issue averted. "You perceived Dumbledore?"  
  
Ah, the reason for his absence immediately following the night's event. "I did, my Lord. He was quite distraught. Attempting to wear a brave face for the benefit of his Gryffindors, but visibly shaken. As were Potter and the werewolf. In all likelihood they will be mourning for many weeks."  
  
"Survivors?"  
  
"Dumbledore, Potter, Lupin and Bones, my Lord."  
  
"Bones? She was suppose to be killed. As were them all. Failure of this magnitude cannot be corrected. It must be taken as a battle lost." He could not be hearing correctly. A battle lost? Fallible, haunted his mind. "As the culprit has already suffered the consequences, it is time to reform."  
  
Withdraw and regroup. He was not use to failure. During the first reign of terror he had never experienced failure until that fateful Halloween night, when his Lord and Master failed to return. But now...   
  
"My Prince, I believe a reestablishment of acquaintances with Dumbledore is in order. You will present yourself before him, preferably alone, and dissuade as much as possible from our current state."  
  
"Of course, my Lord."  
  
"Once through, you will return and we will finish this business of you and the doppleganger."  
  
He bowed. He would need answers for that meeting.  
  
***  
  
Rule number five of the consequences: it always begins with your choice.  
  
Walking along the edge of the lake spread before the castle of Hogwarts did little to ease the confusion in his mind. Normally this was not so. But this night held no more answers than it offered questions. Everything had happened just as they had watched, but...  
  
But. But none of what happened seemed logical.  
  
Cornelius Fudge was dead.  
  
Severus Snape was dead.  
  
Peter Pettigrew would likely be dead soon.  
  
Amelia Bones was alive for the moment.  
  
And Sirius Black was dead. Or he had been. Or he never was.  
  
The conflicting actions were too much for him to deal with.  
  
Watching the soft reflection of the waning moon soothed none of his worries. Slowly three silver colored vertical bars shimmered into view, directly above the ghost moon. The image of all his dilemmas. But it was late. The sun was due to rise in the east in a few hours. Even an aging Headmaster required a few hours of sleep.  
  
What he saw behind him cause him to retreat in shock.  
  
Impossible.  
  
Or was it?  
  
Only the left half of the face was visible. Only the hematite bars. The rest was shrouded in the night as black as the shadow surrounding the figure.  
  
"It strikes me that I have not had the opportunity to wish you good evening, Headmaster," the apparition spoke.  
  
Albus could not reply. It was all too surreal. He had seen the curse. He had seen the body. But he had also seen Sirius. "So it appears there are two instead of one," he spoke at long last. "Where one survives so must the other."  
  
"Do elaborate, Headmaster," the Dark Prince sneered. "And prove that you addle old mind has not stumbled over the dubious facts." The Dark Prince was not normally as contemptuous as this. No, the sneer was more usual from Severus Snape.  
  
"How have you been, Severus?" he asked as though he had his Potions Professor before him minus that horrific mask covering his features. "I have heard the strangest tale from a stray dog wandering the grounds. Perhaps you would be interested in hearing it."  
  
"That mutt is here!" Definitely Severus. "It surprises me you took so long to recognize the facts." Yet there was still the Dark Prince overriding.  
  
"The facts were rather obscure, weren't they," he chuckled lightly. "You seem to be loosing your touch, Severus. Though I must say, through your deception not only have we been able to clear a framed man from all charges, that self-same framed man is alive to reap the benefits. I feel obligated to thank you on his behalf. He was however greatly disappointed to hear of your demise. "  
  
"I don't care what that mutt has to say," Severus interrupted sharply. "It was is own fault he put himself in that position. Though it falls back on you for failing to listen to your precious Gryffindor. Tell me, old man, how long were you able to hide your grief."  
  
"Could it be you have gain insecurities?" These attacks were unlike any he had received from the Dark Prince he had known. And the mask was never half hidden.  
  
At his question, the Dark Prince stepped back. Unable to gage the emotion, Albus tried a different approach. One that never failed to gain Severus's attention. "Severus," the Headmaster said sternly. "Come here." And to his mild surprise, the figure bearing the three hematite bars took many steps towards him, before halting mere feet away. The man shifted his head and the moonlight caught what Dumbledore could not see earlier. The other half of his Professor's face.  
  
The sight was wrong.  
  
Terribly out of place.  
  
Completely broken.  
  
"Oh, Severus." He reached a hand out and the face flinched. With eyes closed, the man held steady as Dumbledore allowed the remainder of the mask to fall away. Holding the bars close, the Headmaster felt the vestiges of power. And a more powerful object he had yet to behold. "Not all choices bring out the best."  
  
Severus said nothing. The man was as taunt as a sail in a storm.  
  
"My boy, you know who you are. It is time to let us know."  
  
He allowed the white shard to fall from his grasp. The vacant eye gazed unseeing at the starry night sky, watching the waning moon.  
  
Turning to the castle he left the man with his thoughts. But there was a moment where Dumbledore felt compelled to return his gaze to that location. Only to see the man stoop to recover his lost prize. 


	10. Interlude of Desperation

AN: Blame Japan for the long update. I was morning over the fact that I can't see Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban until the 26th. And yes, we are still in the Summer holidays. This story takes place in a matter of weeks, at most a month. I know it is confusing, but if you have any questions you absolutely have to answered, ask them. If the answer doesn't appear in the text, I'll answer in author notes.  
  
Three more chapters.  
  
Interlude of Desperation  
  
The Dark Prince could only remember once such time when he had felt such a surge of the unknown. One time when he was completely unable to affect anything. One time when he was desperate to know the out come. Then unlike now, the result would not harm his person. Then like now, the result would severely alter his standings.  
  
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps.  
  
An hour had passed since his Lord had left. An hour since his Lord informed him of His impending victory. An hour since his Lord should have returned. An hour.  
  
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps.  
  
The clock now read two hours past midnight. He had heard nothing from his Lord. He knew nothing of his Lord's impending victory. His pristine white face had not looked at any other object in the room. There was no other object in the room. Nothing.  
  
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps.  
  
He needed to know. He had to know. He could not remain in this suspense for any longer. He had been told to remain until his Lord returned. But his Lord had not returned.  
  
His shoes clicked with every step on the hard wooden planks stretching across the room. The echoing sound reverberating into every cold corner, every solitary and secluded location filled with his own increasing anxiety for the night. Even the ticking of the clock resounded mournfully as though it was in possession of dire news.  
  
The mechanical ticking and the echoing clicking remained in his thoughts, driving out all precious thoughts of clinging hope. Instilling in him manifestations of worries the passage of time pulled along. Images the dead should only see.  
  
Seven steps. Turn. Seven steps. Turn. Six. Stumble.  
  
The chimes rang out the third hour, causing him to miss a step. The hour did not bode well for the Dark Prince. Nothing in the evening had seem to go as planned. All circumstantial evidence pointed towards an undesired outcome. And that outcome looming overhead as an ominous soothsayer, gleefully foretelling damnation. With the end of the chines came a foreboding silence. No ticking of the clock, no sharp clicks of boots on hardwood floors, no sound but a ragged intake of breath signaling the making of a decision.  
  
His Lord could not be fallible.  
  
Within seconds there was no longer a living object in the room.  
  
The house was no longer a house and there was nothing coming from the house that spoke of living beings. It was a crumbling wreckage of the destitute and forsaken. A scattering of timbers, unrecognizable debris. He knew this was where his Lord met his end. He had followed the magical signature, for someone as devoted to his Lord as he, it was not a challenging task. Somewhere beneath this collapsed frame were bodies, and not the one he wanted to find.  
  
He knew that, too. It was the instincts of a servant that told him this. The ones he wished in vain he could ignore.  
  
Not a movement from the shadows, a sign that worried the Prince. He could not abandon this tomb until he knew why his Lord did not rest beneath its structure. Yet he could not advance for fear another would see his approach and believe him the cause of this destruction. And as he would not find his Lord and Master under the wreckage, there was no true point in him removing himself from his cover.  
  
Instead he watched. Waiting for the enemy to claim their dead. The wait had not been long before he a thunderous noise from the sky announcing the arrival of one Sirius Black. Of course the Secret Keeper would come and survey the damage his decision had done. Without a backward glance, Black started rummaging through the pile of debris. He could not understand what Black would want from from the rubble. Even the Prince did not need to see the bodies to know the deed had been done.  
  
A loud pop announced another arrival. One close to the house. The half giant, Hagrid. Who could only have come at Dumbledore's orders. But that gentle giant would not harm a fool, especially not one the ones he had known from childhood. And from the look of the conversation the Prince was right.  
  
He could not hear the conversation from where he was, but that was not necessary from the physical gestures and angry Black was able to preform. The man was furious as he tore through the rubble not finding what he was looking for and appeared to be yelling at Hagrid. Just what was so important that the man had to find it? It had not been the body of James Potter, for he had uncovered that minutes ago. And that was what the Prince had expected the traitorous Secret Keeper to relish finding.  
  
Then as one, the traitor and the giant turned in the same direction. They must have found it. Black reached the point first. However, the Prince could not see as the giant oaf Hagrid was in the way. Whatever had gain their attention was not destined for his eyes as when Hagrid turned the object was already stuffed in one of those enormous pockets. It must have been what Dumbledore wanted. And then, by surprise the half giant took Black's motorcycle and flew off.  
  
That left Black. And only once that excuse for a man had disappeared could he then search for his own clues as to why his Lord was missing. But fate was against him. That cursed fool saw him. He knew from the fierce maniacal grin the idiot sent in his direction. Black had betrayed both sides.  
  
The Dark Prince had no response for this. Betrayal he understood. The insane glee extruding from the very pores of that betrayer was incomprehensible. The frantic laughter startled the Prince. And then Black was gone. To where, he did not know. But he did not wish to know. His main concern was to find out what had happened to his Lord and Master.  
  
In his distress, part of him told him to go to Dumbledore. And so he went.  
  
He could stand in the middle of the Headmaster's office with little difficulty. No one had seen him enter. No one had seen him at all. Which was pleasant for him. School was in session, but no sane soul would wander the night of All Hallows Eve.  
  
Yet Dumbledore was not present. He had only entered the school because Severus was welcome. Yet no one had been there to meet him. The situation was strange. The Headmaster never left except for dire occasions. Tonight appeared to be one of those occasions. He began pacing again. He despised waiting. Waiting for information he should have been the first to receive. The first to know. But here he was waiting. With no ticking of a clock. Only the soft footfalls on the thick carpet. The soft whirling of the strange gadgets the eccentric Headmaster collected. He could do nothing until the old wizard returned.  
  
A door closed.  
  
Somewhere deep in his conscious he knew he should have heard it open. His own survival depended on his keen senses. Something was desperately wrong for him to not realize another man was in the room with him.  
  
"You." The inarticulate conversation began. The white bearded man with the the sparkling half moon glasses only stared, a frown developing deeply on his face. "You caused this. Without you non of this would have happened. This was your interference. Your fault."  
  
"I fear I do not know the situation." There was no fear in that voice. No concern. Grief. Confusion. But no fear.  
  
"Your meddling cause this failure. Without you none of this would have occurred. You caused this!" he could not pull a complete thought from his scattered mind. All he could do was to find the blame. He rounded on the venerable Headmaster. Took a menacing step forward. "You did this. You caused it all. Your meddling. Your interference."  
  
"Severus?" Confusion.  
  
He stepped back. That wasn't right. Something was wrong.  
  
"Severus." A statement. He knew. "Remove your mask. It is over. For now."  
  
Mask? There was no mask to remove. This was his face. He was here because his master was gone and he needed to know why. "Why?" he hissed, stepping back once more. He suddenly felt as a foreign element in this office. "Why did you interfere? Why did you cause this? Why? What did you do?" His back hit the wall. The Headmaster was frowning more. Stepping closer.  
  
A frail old hand rose and drew near to his face. He swatted it away angrily. He would not have that meddling old fool touch his face. "Severus. He is gone for now. There is no need to hide behind your mask."  
  
"Where is he?" he demanded instead. Ignoring the comments. They were not important. He needed to know. "What have you and your foolish companions done?"  
  
"He is gone."  
  
That simple phrase undid him. Gone. The one man he believed would never go, was gone. One word should not be adequate to express that. But it was. It was more than enough. Gone. Echoing through his mind. Gods were not gone.  
  
"It is over, Severus. There is nothing more to fear."  
  
"I do not fear," came the hard, unwavering, cold answer. A gloved hand rose without a tremble and his face broke free.  
  
In that one terrible moment a single thought was shared, "Tell me why he is gone." 


	11. The Rules of Dogma

AN: This will be the last chapter for about a month. I will be returning to America soon and am spending this time packing and studying for my exams over here. Just so you don't think I am abandoning you, there are two more chapters until this fic is finished.  
  
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Rules of Dogma  
  
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The thin black slit of an eye stared vacantly from the purest white sea of smooth flawless alabaster. The large fragment was unmarred and only the upper left section of the face was missing. And without that portion, the mask was immaculate. The red silk stretched beneath the pristine lines of white, a softly rippling bed for rest, provided a gab between the unmarked white and the puzzle-piece lined with shades of gray. Together and separate the pieces laid on the silk lined and cushioned tray.  
  
A black lid snapped shut. A pale white hand closing the clasps. And lingered on the last silver fastener before finally locking it closed.  
  
Rule number one of Dogma: never forget that which is considered sacred.  
  
The ebony handle glared through the ivory fingers. Catching the light as though hailing the unseen patrons. Winking at the non-existing passersby. Silver flashed in the golden halos glowing in the dark corridors. The light was scarce and eagerly grabbed by the patches of white. The mat black case achieved its own semblance of gloss as it passed through the lit spheres.  
  
The elegance with which the fingers lightly held the smooth solid handle proclaimed a deep set care for the contents within. Slightly curved and securely gripped, the hand caressed the fine grained wood where sleek fastenings glittered. It was a loving hand which had possession of the sacred. The one clear shape grasping the handle.  
  
Rule number two of Dogma: that which is believed cannot be discarded.  
  
Soiled when compared to the pure white, the ivory velvet removed the alabaster white from the bed of red silk. The movement was reverent, sorrowful. The lines of shifting gray floated, unsettled, among the varying milky shades. Winking silently the glossy glistening of the grays and silvers, never a single shade, the marked eye kept a mute watch over the proceedings. Soundlessly guarding the secrets of the fates of the past.  
  
Warmly the cold tools freed one slender mercurial bar. With digits equally slender, the wash of silver mixed grays was gently lain on a soft cushion of red velvet. It had been the least of the trinity. The one set aside while the power raged through the two others. Alone the swimming silver bar meant much more. With three, it was lost. On the crimson like its superior companions still inset on the see of white, the sheer force of will emanated with unfounded strength.  
  
Tender care brought the small fragment from the fields of cream to return the broken marred section to its resting place on the scarlet silk. The sallow, empty eye faced up without seeing. Vacant and incomplete.  
  
The same careful attention lifted the immaculate white portion of the face from the final resting place onto the soft folds of velvet. There it remained until an equally unmarked puzzle-piece was brought beside it. The two slid together seamlessly. Perfect matches. They were content to stay with each cracked groove filled by the other's presence. But the piece was taken all too soon, leaving the original merged in the creamy shades.  
  
Rule number three of Dogma: what remains becomes renewed.  
  
The blank white puzzle-piece was firmly in place now. A hairline fracture was all that marked the new face as different from the old. That and there was not a thing marring the pure white surface. A thumb smoothed the line, gently vanishing the fracture from sight. Finally healing what had been broken by that self same hand.  
  
In the light as it looked at itself for the first time since recreation, it watched the golden halos wash over the soft curving lines, uninterrupted.  
  
The spells were whole again. No longer broken or torn. Sleeping, waiting. From the soft red velvet, a lone hematite bar glistened in anticipation. Its purpose was plain. It was the last component for the desired spells to be awoken. Eagerly it waited for its moment.  
  
Horizontal, just below the right eye, it sat, balancing on the curvature of the cheek. It waited as the alabaster softened and melted, letting it sink into its embrace. The stone curve in accordance with the surface topography so that there was no irregular hitch along the face. Secured in the knowledge the main task had been completed, the solid quicksilver settled into place comfortably.  
  
All that remained was the final fitting to the face that it new so well. The face that it molded to flawlessly.  
  
Rule number four of Dogma: never fail to believe the truths set for the self.  
  
Looking through plain slit eyes, the the stark whiteness glowed with pride at once again being whole. It felt complete and whole against the warm skin. The reflection on the mirror surface did little to show the emotion welled behind that face. The human eyes were looking upon a new self. One removed from the old.  
  
Now ready to reform, it looked back on the lost brothers. One retaining bindings to another being, strong magic not present in the current self. The other empty of power, a single stone set deep in the cracked white. All life had vanished, the binding spells released, leaving nothing but solid hematite. Now all active spells centered on the self. The newly set, newly created face.  
  
For a last time true eyes glimpsed the fragment as human hands shut the black case. Silver clasps. The hands placed it on a top shelf. It's future unknown. From there the ties to the recent past remained hidden, lost to all inquisitive eyes. And there it would rest for eternity. 


End file.
